University Love
by SouthernChickie
Summary: NOW COMPLETE! Richie, basketball, college, and a dad. Fun in the Missouri sun with a few bumps along the way.
1. College Boy

Disclaimers: Huh, um, I think I'll go with not mine. I don't think Southern Missouri University really exists, if it does I don't own it. I'm basing it's appearance on Oklahoma State, I don't go there but I've visited so if I'm a little off sorry. I'm still messing around with this idea, I know where it's going but I don't know if I want to continue it. Please leave a view expressing your opinion when you finish this chapter even if its to say 'this sucks take it off the site.' Like I said I'm playing with the idea.  
  
UNIVERSITY LOVE  
  
John looked curiously around for the source of the strange beeping noise that abruptly started in the previously silent room. He reached over and grabbed the cell phone as it sang its shrill song on the table.  
  
"Richie's cell phone, this is his secretary Muffy speaking. How may I help you?" he asked in a high falsetto.  
  
A female voice laughed on the other line. "Is he sleeping or slacking?"  
  
"None of the above," John answered in his natural baritone. "Hang on, I'll see if I can find him." He opened the door and stuck his head out into the hall. "Hey, Ryan! Phone!" he yelled spotting Richie down the hall happily arguing about the previous night's football game.  
  
"Who is it?" Richie yelled back.  
  
"He wants to know who you are," John said into the phone. He snorted. "You want me to tell him what?" He smiled wickedly. "She says to tell you she wants to talk to Richard the Lionhearted!" John yelled louder than necessary.  
  
"Oh, God!" Richie groaned blushing as the guys on his floor started teasing him. "Amanda, I hate you," he announced taking the phone from John. "I'm never gonna to live that down."  
  
"Serves you right, going off without telling me," Amanda answered.  
  
"Well maybe if you hadn't completely dropped off the face of the Earth I could have told you."  
  
"I can't believe you let Duncan talk you into this," Amanda said changing the subject.  
  
Richie laughed. "You can't believe it? I'm the one living this grim reality."  
  
"And here I thought you were going to stand your ground."  
  
"I tried!" Richie defended. "But you know Mac, once he gets an idea in his head. . . plus I kinda wanted to. It's not really school that bothers me, it's the fact that Mac's paying for it."  
  
"I do believe that you earned part of the money, Mr. Basketball scholarship."  
  
"So I play ball, Mac's still footing the bill for everything else."  
  
"He wants this for you, Richie. He practically explodes with pride anytime someone asks about you."  
  
Richie felt his cheeks burn at the blunt statement. "Yeah, well. . . Apparently he and Tessa had talked a lot about this," he said softly. It had really been the knowledge that Tessa had wanted him to go to college that had pushed him over the edge and into a dorm room.  
  
"So when are you coming back to Washington?"  
  
"Um, I meeting Mac in Pairs over winter break, why?"  
  
"Because I want to see you, dummy."  
  
"Dummy?" Richie repeated. "Ouch, I'm mortally wounded here, right through the heart."  
  
"Only mortally?" Amanda whined.  
  
"Shut up!" Richie exclaimed after a slight pause, waving away the audience that had collected in his room. "Why did you really call?"  
  
"Are you meeting any nice girls?"  
  
"Amanda!"  
  
"Cute coeds?"  
  
"What do you want?"  
  
"Do I need to come down there and fix you up with someone?"  
  
Richie rolled his eyes. "I am perfectly capable of meeting girls on my own thank you very much."  
  
"I want weekly updates."  
  
"Peer pressure!" Richie exclaimed. "You and Joe, I'm tellin' ya. If I meet a girl you two will be the first to find out, I promise. But right now, unless she's hidden in my psyc book it's not gonna happen."  
  
"Class troubles?"  
  
"I'm a little rusty on this whole studying thing."  
  
"Look in you psyc class for a cute girl to help you out," Amanda suggested.  
  
"Look, unless you have anything of importance to say in the next three seconds I'm hanging up on you."  
  
"Fine. But I want a girlfriend by the time I see you next."  
  
"Same time next year?"  
  
"Bye, Richard."  
  
"Bye, Amanda." Richie hung up.  
  
"Richard the Lionhearted?" John asked. "Who's Amanda, she sounds sexy."  
  
"Call me that again and I'll kill ya. And she is. But she is way out of your league."  
  
"I want pictures," Kyle, who lived across the hall, announced.  
  
"Later," Richie told him.  
  
"Old girlfriend?" Jeremy, Kyle's roommate asked.  
  
"I wish," Richie snorted. "Unfortunately she's a little out of my league, too."  
  
. . . . . .  
  
Richie plopped down in the small chair and prepared to be bored out of his mind. He knew how to use computers, he never even really paid attention in class and he still had the highest average. 'Time to work on my creative writing paper,' he thought taking out a pen and spiral. Halfway through class the girl next to him leaned over.  
  
"What happens next?" she whispered. Richie jumped slightly and looked at her. She smiled and pointed at his paper. "What happens to the kid next?" Richie blushed; she was really pretty.  
  
"He gets caught," he whispered back with a grin.  
  
"Oh," she sounded disappointed. "sucks to be him."  
  
"Yeah, well. . ."  
  
"So write so I can be nosey and read some more."  
  
Richie looked down at the paper for a second and began writing again. By the end of class he had nearly finished his paper and had successfully developed a strong crush on the girl next to him.  
  
"That's really good," she said standing up. Now that she wasn't trying to stay quite Richie noticed a southern drawl in her voice. "How'd you come up with it?"  
  
"Just came to me one night," he shrugged. 'The night I broke into Mac's shop,' he added to himself.  
  
"So what happens to him next?"  
  
"I don't know, yet."  
  
"Huh," she grunted thoughtfully, "he should go to juvie and you can play with his emotions 'n stuff. Get him all riled up, into a couple of fights."  
  
Richie chuckled, "Who knows, maybe. Or what if the store owner lets him go in exchange for his silence?" He followed her out of the classroom.  
  
"Then what? OH!" she shrieked with a little jump. Richie chuckled at her behavior. "Maybe he could go back, you know to snoop and figure out what was really happenin'," she suggested.  
  
"Get out of my head!" Richie complained playfully.  
  
"Great minds and all that," she smiled.  
  
"Yeah," he replied lamely for lack of something more intelligent to say.  
  
She looked at her watch, "Aw, dang! I'm gonna be late!" she exclaimed turning and dashing down the hall.  
  
"Wait! What's your name?" he called after her, but she had already disappeared.  
  
. . . . . .  
  
Richie sat on the bench in the locker room wiping sweat off his face and neck. He bent over and took off his sneakers with a groan. His ankle was really hurting, he thought he might have broken it when Johnson ran him over to get to the ball, or maybe it was just a really bad sprain. . . which ever it was it was nearly healed now so it didn't matter.  
  
"Way to keep your head in the game, Ryan!" a senior chided him.  
  
"Leave him alone, O'Neal," John defended him. "His been blabbing about a girl all day."  
  
The rest of the team started laughing. "Uh-oh! Girls can only hinder your game, man."  
  
"It's nothing like that," Richie said pulling off his sweaty tank top, annoyed by his ability to become the center of attention so easily. "I just want to know what her name is."  
  
"She didn't even tell you her name!" O'Neal laughed. "Give her up, man. That's nothing but bad news. You'll probably never see her again."  
  
"She's in my comp sci class, I'll see her Thursday."  
  
"If you say so, shorty," O'Neal shrugged. Richie grimaced inwardly, in addition to being one of the youngest players on the team he was the shortest. But he was also the fastest and had the best hook shot, so he didn't get picked on too much. . . but when he was it took all the control he could muster to keep him from starting a fight.  
  
"I do," Richie said with a smirk appeasing his need to fight by throwing his dirty shirt in O'Neal's face.  
  
. . . . . .  
  
"Hey, Mac!" Joe greeted as Duncan entered the bar. "I was wondering if you were going to watch the game here."  
  
"Where else would I go?" Duncan asked. Joe usually didn't play sports games at the bar, but decided that showing the college games would be a good way to brag about Richie.  
  
At half-time Duncan and Joe went into the back office to talk. But not three minutes into their conversation a waitress came in to interrupt them.  
  
"They're talking about Richie!" Joe and Duncan went back out into the bar.  
  
"Ryan has had an amazing half this game," a TV sports reporter was saying. "35 of Missouri's 48 points have come from him courtesy of this kid's three pointer. As long as Ryan's around there's no doubt in my mind South Missouri's going to play in the Big Twelve. He can probably carry the team to the Final Four. O'Neal is going to have some serious competition for MVP this season."  
  
Joe looked at Duncan, who was beaming. "You got yourself a hell of a boy there, MacLeod."  
  
"I didn't teach him how to play," Duncan shrugged. "He didn't even tell me he went to try out. I didn't find out until after the fact."  
  
*Eight Months Earlier*  
  
The offer he had made to Richie was the farthest thing from Duncan's mind as he slightly jogged up the stairs to Richie's apartment.  
  
"Hey, Mac," Richie greeted him at the door, having felt his presence.  
  
"What's the big secret?" Duncan asked following Richie into his small kitchen. Richie turned around to face him and leaned heavily on the counter.  
  
"This will explain everything," he said handing Duncan a folded piece of paper.  
  
"What is it?" Duncan asked.  
  
"Just read."  
  
Duncan unfolded the paper and read it. Richie watched his face intently waiting for his reaction. Waiting for Duncan to say something was more nerve racking than waiting for the letter. Rejection from strangers was easier to take than the possibility that Duncan might laugh at him. . . or take back his offer, say it was all a big joke.  
  
"When?" Was the first word Duncan could muster after reading the letter.  
  
"Remember a couple months ago when I left for a week and wouldn't tell anyone where I went?" Richie said sheepishly. "I was in Missouri."  
  
Duncan's face broke into a wide grin. "Richie, this is great! Why didn't you tell me?"  
  
Richie looked away. "I didn't want to get everyone's hopes up, in case I didn't make it."  
  
"But you did!"  
  
"Well, there's one problem. . . I can't accept their offer unless. . . unless I can, um, you see I kinda. . ."  
  
"Richie, spit it out," Duncan chuckled.  
  
"I can only do this if your offer is still good," Richie blurted looking at Duncan briefly before averting his gaze again.  
  
"Richie, that offer stands for as long as it takes for you to take me up on it." He put his hand on Richie's shoulder.  
  
"I'll pay you back, it might take me a while, but I will," Richie promised awkwardly.  
  
. . . . . .  
  
*South Missouri University, present*  
  
Richie wondered around outside making college memories. 'Who would've ever thought I'd end up here?' he thought to himself. 'Richie Ryan, college ball player, talk of the NCAA, dream achiever. . . girl finder!' He stopped wondering and froze staring at a familiar head of dark hair bent over a French book. As he strode across the grass to the shady tree she was sitting under he tried to come up with something to say. Smiling he skirted the tree, careful not to attract her attention, and came up behind her and read over her shoulder.  
  
"Can I help, you?" she asked angrily looking up at him.  
  
"What happens next?" he asked innocently flashing her a smile. "If you can read my homework, I can read yours."  
  
She blushed and looked back at her book. "I fail my test," she answered. "French and I don't get along so good."  
  
"Apparently you and English don't get along so well either," he smiled again. "I can help you, if you want."  
  
"You takin' French?"  
  
"No, but I speak it pretty well."  
  
"Good enough for me." She scooted over to give him half the tree trunk to lean on.  
  
He sat down and began explaining the rules of conjugation. Over an hour passed and it was starting to get dark.  
  
"I can't see anything," she complained after a minute.  
  
"Me neither. Why don't we call it a night?" Richie stood up and offered her his hand.  
  
"Thanks for helpin' me. It all makes a little more sense now."  
  
"Good, 'cause that's what I was going for."  
  
"I better get going," she said resting her books on her hip.  
  
"Yeah, me too. So, I'll see you tomorrow right?"  
  
"Yeah, do you finish that story? I'd like to see how it ended."  
  
"Yeah, I'll, uh, I'll bring it."  
  
"Cool."  
  
"Yeah, so I'll you around," Richie began backing away.  
  
"Yeah, later."  
  
. . . . . .  
  
"Earth, to Ryan, come in Ryan." John waved his hand in front of Richie's face. Richie didn't blink. "Wow, man you are gone. You saw that girl again, didn't you?"  
  
"Yeah," Richie sighed.  
  
John laughed. "Man, you have got it bad! You haven't blinked in, like, an hour."  
  
"I'm sorry that my blinking schedule doesn't coincide with yours," Richie said coming out of his stupor and throwing his pillow across the room hitting John in the face.  
  
"So what's her name?"  
  
"Her name?" Richie repeated lamely. "I, uh, don't know. I was so busy trying to impress her I didn't think to ask. Guess I'll find out tomorrow." 


	2. The great question, answered

Trecia- I haven't completely abandoned Generation Divide, I just have major writer's block on it. I have a chappy that I'm working on and will post it when I finish it, promise. If you have any suggestions e-mail me.  
  
Cal- welcome to the world of the Richie-fans. I hope this story keeps you on the right path. I have an unhealthy love of the kid and am always up for converting people.  
  
Richiefic- if you're reading this can you e-mail me? I have a question I want to ask you and can't get you're e-mil from your biopage.  
  
Everyone else- I'm done with my little AN now. Well, except that I apologize to anyone who is from southern Missouri, because I am not and am totally making all this up. I chose this particular 'school' because you can call it SoMo, I find that to be a cute college name. Everyone seems to be most anxious to find out the dark haired girl's name (kinda reminds me of the little red haired girl from Charlie Brown) so with out further ado Richie shall pop the question.  
  
Richie watched everyone enter the large classroom waiting for the girl to come in. He glanced briefly at the clock, five minutes until class started and she wasn't there yet. She said she was going to come. Maybe she was just being nice, maybe she didn't like him like he thought, maybe something happened to her. . .  
  
"Heya!" maybe she slipped in while he blinked.  
  
"Heya," he said back with a smile as she sat down next to him. "I have a stupid question."  
  
"Do you want me to give you a stupid answer?"  
  
"No serious will be just fine. Uh, what's your name?"  
  
She grinned and toothy grin and laughed lightly. "Sorry, I know who you are and it didn't occur to me that you didn't know me."  
  
"I'd like to, uh. . . what did you say your name was again?"  
  
Her grin widened. "Heather."  
  
Richie wrinkled his nose. "You don't look like a Heather," he said.  
  
"I don't? Then what do I look like?"  
  
"I don't know, just the dark hair, the green eyes. . . which are very nice by the way. . . something more exotic. Like um, Sheena, or Amelia or something."  
  
"I'll be sure to register a complaint with my parents."  
  
Richie chuckled. "Be sure to tell me how that goes. Oh! Um, hang on." He dug around his bag for a second. "Finished it." He handed her a copy of his paper.  
  
"Oh, yeah!" She took it from him and skimmed to where she had left off.  
  
After class Richie walked with her down the hall. "So, what are you doing after this?" he asked.  
  
"I have class."  
  
"Until?"  
  
"Four. Are you asking me out?"  
  
Richie made a face. "I'm trying to, but if you keep having classes it might not work. I have practice at five."  
  
"After practice?"  
  
"Are you asking me out now? That's not fair, it was my idea."  
  
"Fine, sorry," she said with a smile.  
  
"So, practice ends at seven, so what about seven thirty? Is that to late?"  
  
"I don't know. I mean it is a school night an' everything. . . sure why not? Seven thirty."  
  
Richie's heart skipped a beat. "Dinner?"  
  
"Sure," she grinned her toothy grin. "You pick. Seein' as it was your idea an' all."  
  
"Okay, seven thirty. Where?"  
  
"How about the fountain. The big one with the flowers in the middle of the courtyard?"  
  
"Yeah, sure. Seven thirty at the fountain. See ya then," he turned and left before he could do or say anything stupid. Halfway down the hall a familiar sensation hit Richie. "Uh-oh," he said aloud. Contrary to what he had been telling Duncan, Richie hadn't been practicing his fencing. He had been slacking off in favor of studying and working. His sword was actually on the top shelf of his closet and had been since the first week of school. He hadn't been too worried; he'd been at school half a semester and hadn't run into any immortals, until now. He tracked the buzz to a history professor's office. 'Should have known,' he thought with a weary grin. He had just reached to knock on the door when it opened.  
  
"Come in," said a rather average looking man moving aside for Richie to enter. "I am Simon Miller," he continued closing the door.  
  
"Richie Ryan."  
  
"1763"  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"I was born 1763."  
  
"Oh, um, 1974."  
  
"So I take it you didn't have to forge any papers when you applied?" Simon asked with a slight smile.  
  
Richie swallowed hard. "No."  
  
"Don't worry, I have no interest in your quickening."  
  
"Good, 'cause I'd like to keep it for awhile if I can," Richie answered.  
  
"You shouldn't have anything to worry about, you're the first immortal I've run into in six years."  
  
"That's good to know. I should probably warn you that immortals have this habit of finding me, so our population may be growing."  
  
"I'll keep that in mind. . . wait a minute. Richie Ryan, where have I heard that name before?"  
  
"You ever worked for the Washington police department?" Richie asked with a slight grin, slowly relaxing in the presence of this strange immortal.  
  
"Washington!" Simon exclaimed startling Richie. "You're Duncan MacLeod's boy."  
  
"I wouldn't put it like that really, but I know Mac."  
  
"There we go, that's where I've heard of you."  
  
"You know Mac?"  
  
"No, not directly. But I'm sure you've noticed he's pretty high on most hit lists."  
  
"Now that you mention it. . ." Richie replied sarcastically.  
  
"You do realize that being his student gives you a bit of a reputation. People expect you to be good."  
  
"Something tells me I'm not exactly perceived as a threat among immortal social circles."  
  
"Reputations aren't always true. But I still have no interest in challenging you, who you are makes no difference to me."  
  
"Thanks, I think." An awkward silence filled the room. "Uh, look, not be rude or anything, but I have a paper I gotta turn in and a test to study for, so, uh, I gotta go," Richie said moving toward the door.  
  
"Right. First semester freshman year, a lot to do."  
  
Richie turned around and looked at him. "How'd you it was my first year?"  
  
"I haven't run into anyone for six years remember? I'm surprised it took us this long to meet."  
  
"Oh, right," Richie said feeling a little stupid.  
  
"If I was MacLeod's student I'd be paranoid, too," Simon said with a smile.  
  
. . . . . .  
  
"Hello?" Richie answered his cell phone on the third ring.  
  
"Hey, Rich."  
  
"Hey, Mac."  
  
"You sound distracted," Duncan commented.  
  
"Do you know the difference between retroactive and proactive learning?" Richie asked.  
  
"No."  
  
"Neither do I, that's the problem."  
  
Duncan chuckled. "It never seemed to bother you before."  
  
"I wasn't getting tested over it before," Richie mumbled. "What do you want?"  
  
"Tickets," Duncan answered. "To the Washington game. Three."  
  
"That's two months away."  
  
"This way I can keep bugging you until you remember."  
  
"They're as good as in the mail, Mac."  
  
"Good. Well, I guess I'll let you go."  
  
"Kay, talk to ya later."  
  
"What's her name?" Duncan asked suddenly before Richie had a chance to hang up.  
  
"Who's name?" Richie asked confusedly.  
  
"The girl that's distracting you."  
  
"There's no girl here. It's just me," Richie glanced around the empty dorm room as if to prove his point.  
  
"Fine, the girl you're thinking about."  
  
"Mac!"  
  
"The girl you're trying no to think about, then."  
  
Richie rolled his eyes. Duncan had a point. "Heather."  
  
"I'll be sure to tell Amanda."  
  
"Aw, man! Not you, too!"  
  
Duncan laughed. "Bye, Richie."  
  
"Bye, Mac."  
  
. . . . . .  
  
"O'Neal! Ryan's not your man! Cover Sinclair!" Coach Roberts yelled.  
  
"Yeah, get off me," Richie snarled taking a shot, which he made. "Not like you're doing any good."  
  
O'Neal glared at him. "Shut up, Ryan," he spat jogging down the court next to Richie.  
  
"Hey, I just call them like I see them," Richie shrugged turning back around and following the ball back down the court with O'Neal at his heals. Richie caught the ball and pivoted looking for some one to pass it to. He pivoted left and found O'Neal panting in his face. "Winded old man?" Richie asked tossing the ball behind his back to Sinclair. Who turned and shot making a three pointer. "That's your man you know," Richie laughed turning around and setting up for the next play.  
  
O'Neal hit him from behind sending Richie crashing to the ground. "Sorry, shorty! Didn't see you there!" he laughed offering Richie a hand.  
  
'Yeah, right,' Richie thought bitterly. "I'll try and stay out of your way.  
  
O'Neal heaved Richie to his feet and grabbed him by his shoulders. "Stay away from my sister," he growled shoving Richie away and running back to the scrimmage.  
  
"O'Neal, stop playing games!" Coach Roberts yelled. "Ryan! Get in there!"  
  
"What the hell was that all about?" Richie demanded once Coach Roberts had gone into his office after practice. O'Neal grabbed Richie by his shirt and pulled him close.  
  
"Stay away from my sister," he repeated.  
  
"I don't know your sister, man," Richie insisted.  
  
"Really? Because I hear you're taking her out tonight."  
  
"Wait, your sister is Heather?" Richie asked. "Figures."  
  
"Yeah, so don't get any ideas."  
  
"The only idea I'm trying to come up with is where to take her to dinner. 'Cause we're going out tonight."  
  
"No, you're not."  
  
Richie pried O'Neal's fingers off his shirt. "If you'll excuse me, I need to shower, because I have a date in half an hour."  
  
. . . . . .  
  
Heather and Richie walked hand in hand down the restaurant strip just off campus.  
  
"So what are you hungry for?" Richie asked.  
  
"I thought you were supposed to pick."  
  
"I pick to go where ever you want to go."  
  
"I don't know," she shrugged. "Do you have a preference?"  
  
"Nah, I'm up for anything. . . just not The Stadium. . . anywhere but there." The Stadium was the local university hangout/restaurant/bar. The entire staff was part of the athletic department at the university, and Richie was among them.  
  
Heather laughed. "Okay, no Stadium. What about The Pie Shoppe?"  
  
Richie grinned. "Pizza, always a good solution."  
  
They made their way down the strip to the small pizzeria at the end of the block.  
  
"So I took a year off, tried out, and here I am," Richie finished taking another bite.  
  
"How come you didn't try out senior year?" Heather asked.  
  
"Even with a partial scholarship I wouldn't have had the money. Not even for a semester. I mean, the out of state tuition here is insane."  
  
"In state's not that much better."  
  
"So what about you? Why Somo?"  
  
"Performing arts," she answered. "I'm a bit of a thespian."  
  
"Drama geek, huh? What's you specialty?"  
  
"Musical theatre."  
  
"A singer?"  
  
"Yup."  
  
"Impressive." A tall figure entered the restaurant and caught Richie's eye. "Oh, great. We've got company," he groaned.  
  
Heather turned around as O'Neal approached them. "Has he been giving you a hard time?" she asked Richie.  
  
"I can handle him," he assured her.  
  
"Hey, Ryan. What did I tell you about dating my sister?" O'Neal demanded.  
  
"Can I help you?" Richie asked pleasantly.  
  
"Stay away from my sister."  
  
"I am away from her. See? There's a who table between us."  
  
"Alex," Heather sighed. "I can take care of myself."  
  
"I don't want to see you with this loser." O'Neal told her.  
  
"Then go somewhere else," she suggested. "Because we're in the middle of dinner and I'm not leaving."  
  
O'Neal turned to Richie. "I'll see you on the court."  
  
"Sure thing," Richie said as he left.  
  
"Sorry about that," Heather said. "You'd think he'd get over that whole 'big brother protecting little sister' thin by now."  
  
"It's not your fault. And don't worry, he's not the first giant to come after me for asking his sister out."  
  
"Don't tell me you have a rep back in where ever Washington."  
  
"Seacouver," Richie reminded her. "And no, I don't. I guess I just give off that don't let your sister date me vibe for some reason."  
  
"So I can trust you?"  
  
"Of course. . . but not around gummy worms. I have a thing for gummy worms. I can't be held responsible for what may happen then."  
  
Heather giggled and threw a balled up napkin at him.  
  
. . . . . .  
  
Richie danced his way through the kitchen the next afternoon at the Stadium.  
  
"Wow, man, what's with you?" Jeremy Clifford, who live across the hall from Richie and was the second string q.b. and one of the cooks asked.  
  
"She digs me," Richie replied loading his tray for table twelve.  
  
"That girl? You mean you actually asked her out?"  
  
"Uh-huh. Her name's Heather. We went out last night, it was great. I thought I was all over wen O'Neal showed up, but it worked out."  
  
"O'Neal? Old boyfriend?" Jeremy handed him an order of fries.  
  
"Nope, brother. Freakishly protective brother. Be right back." He left the kitchen with the tray at his shoulder.  
  
"Hey, Rich, you're sat at 15," a pretty volleyball player told him as she passed.  
  
"Thanks." He stopped by table twelve and dropped off their food. He went over a piled his tray with the others and turned to greet his new table. A strong buzz started in the back of his skull as he approached. He smiled. It had to be Simon Miller. There were no other immortals around here. "Professor Mill- - Mac?" Richie stopped short a few feet away from the table.  
  
Duncan looked up from the menu. "Hey, Rich."  
  
Richie blinked a couple times. "What are you doing here?"  
  
"We're hungry," Duncan shrugged.  
  
"We?" Richie repeated. "Who else is here?"  
  
"Just me and Amanda."  
  
"Aw, geeze, man! You gotta be kidding me!" A second buzz hit him as Amanda walked towards them.  
  
"Hello, Richard," she purred running her fingers lightly across his back as she slid into the booth across from Duncan.  
  
"Ice tea and a beer, right?" Richie groaned.  
  
"You're cute when you blush," Amanda told him.  
  
"I'll take that as a yes," Richie turned and left stopping another table on his way.  
  
"You didn't tell me you were working," Duncan commented as Richie put the beer in front of him.  
  
"Yeah, well it just kinda happened. And you didn't tell me you were coming, so we're even. How'd you guys find me?"  
  
"Joe."  
  
"Joe? How'd he know?"  
  
"Mike."  
  
Richie had forgotten about Mike. "Damn Watchers. Can't keep they're mouths shut. You know what you want?"  
  
Richie went into the kitchen to turn in the order.  
  
"So much for being right back," Jeremy greeted him.  
  
"New table. So where was I?"  
  
"Big brother."  
  
"Yeah, so he's already tried to kick my ass twice. The first time I didn't even know why he was so mad at me."  
  
"What'd he do?" Jeremy asked.  
  
"Got a little rough at practice last night, then followed us on our date. I better get back out there." Richie turned and went to check on his tables.  
  
"Can you even breathe?" Amanda asked as Richie came to collect the dirty dishes.  
  
He cocked an eyebrow. "Yeah."  
  
"I just couldn't tell because you're jeans are so tight."  
  
Richie grinned. "Oh, the tighter the jeans the bigger the tip. Just a little something I picked up. That and flirting, flirting helps, too."  
  
"You've always been good at that," Duncan commented pulling out his wallet.  
  
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Richie demanded. "Do you see a check? Put that away." Duncan looked up at him. "It's on me," he grinned. "And don't even begin to fight me on this."  
  
"But, Rich. . ."  
  
"Ah, ah, ah! No buts. I'm paying and that's final."  
  
Duncan started to protest again, but Amanda interrupted him. "Let him pay, Duncan."  
  
"Thank you, Amanda. So why are you guys here? I know you didn't just happen to be in the neighborhood."  
  
"We just needed to drop something off," Duncan answered with a smile.  
  
"I don't like that look, you're up to something."  
  
"Maybe."  
  
"Mac! Man, what did you do?" He noticed a table with empty glasses. "I'll be right back."  
  
"Let's go," Duncan said dropping something on the table as soon as Richie's quickening faded away. 


	3. Fragile Situations

AN: HAHAHAHA! If only ya'll knew what the real reason Mac and Amanda were there! Guess you'll have to read to find out!  
  
I tried something new and got Betaed! So just want to put out a quick thank you to LoMaRiBa  
  
Alynna: um, at the risk of sounding very stupid uh, what does IMHO mean?  
  
Richie returned a few minutes later. He rolled his eyes as soon as he noticed the quickening wasn't there. 'He better not have left any money.' Richie thought shaking his head as he went to gather the rest of the dishes. He picked Duncan's keys up off the table, when he was about to pocket them, he noticed the key chain.  
  
"Wait a minute; Mac doesn't drive a Land. . . Oh, no!" he groaned. He ran out of the restaurant and into the parking lot. "Mac!" he yelled as soon as the buzz hit him. He rounded the corner and spotted Duncan and Amanda leaning on a brand new army green Land Rover. "Please tell me that's not what I think it is."  
  
"What do you think it is?" Duncan asked.  
  
"I think that's what you came down here about. And it better not be." Duncan just smiled at him. "Mac! No!" Richie tried to hand him the keys back; Duncan stuck his hands in his pocket. "Take 'em."  
  
"You need a way to get around down here," Duncan said innocently.  
  
"They're called feet, Mac. Everything is just around the corner no matter where you are. And since when did you think I need a way to get around? I've always walked."  
  
"It's a gift, then."  
  
"For what?" Richie demanded.  
  
"Birthday?" Duncan shrugged.  
  
"Laptop," he reminded him.  
  
"Congrats on school?"  
  
"Cell phone and tuition."  
  
"Thanks for lunch?"  
  
"Nope," Richie shook his head and crossed his arms.  
  
"Tip?"  
  
"No, Mac. No, no, no, okay? No. I'm not taking this."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"Because, Mac," Richie said exasperatedly.  
  
"Well. I'm not taking it back."  
  
"Then we have a problem."  
  
The back door to the Stadium opened and a man stepped out. "Hey, Ryan! Taking a break?"  
  
"I'll be right there!" Richie called back. "Look, that's my boss, okay? So I gotta go. Just take the car back from where ever you got it."  
  
"No," Duncan answered pushing Richie's out stretched hand away.  
  
"Mac, you can't leave this here," Richie insisted.  
  
"Watch me," Duncan smiled opening the door to the T-Bird, which was parked next to the Land Rover, for Amanda before getting in himself. "See you in Paris," he added before putting the car in gear and driving away.  
  
. . . . . .  
  
Three hours later Richie stood in front of the Land Rover with his hands on his hips.  
  
"I can't believe he did this," he moaned unlocking the door and climbing in tossing his apron in the passenger seat. He glanced around for the special features the he knew Duncan wouldn't have been able to resist: sunroof, CD player, power everything. . . It was all there. Slowly Richie reached for the glove box, praying it was empty. . . It wasn't. Inside there was an envelope and some new CDs. Knowing there was no way he was going to be able to give back the CDs (his music collection had become an obsessive compulsive issue) he reached for the envelope, he opened it and pulled out a credit card and a note.  
  
'Re-stock fridge  
  
Gas  
  
School supplies  
  
Emergencies (Heather doesn't count)  
  
-Mac'  
  
"You friggin'. . ." Richie couldn't come up with anything to call Duncan. "You are impossible!"  
  
. . . . . .  
  
"Woah, man, what's with you?" John asked as Richie stormed into their dorm room without closing the door and dropped face first onto his bed.  
  
Richie rolled over and held up the keys. "He gave me a car," he said as if he had been given a large bag off dog droppings.  
  
"A car? Is it here?" John asked excitedly crawling up on the desk to get a better view out of the window. "Which one is it?"  
  
"Green Land Rover."  
  
"Sweet, dude! Who gave it to you?"  
  
"Mac."  
  
"I thought he was in Washington." John turned and sat on the desk facing Richie.  
  
"So did I. But he was at the Stadium today and gave me a car."  
  
Kyle, from across the hall (Jeremy's roommate,) stepped in at the mention of the car. "Who got a car?" he asked.  
  
"Richie," John answered. "Check it out, man; it's sweet." He pointed it out to Kyle.  
  
"That's yours? That is so cool. You have the best car on the floor, hell, probably the entire school!" Kyle announced making himself comfortable on John's bed. "At least the most expensive."  
  
"I'm not keeping it," Richie assured him sitting up as well making room for Andrew from down the hall who had been lured into the room by the excited conversation.  
  
"Keeping what?" Andrew asked.  
  
"This totally awesome Land Rover," Kyle answered.  
  
"And knowing this Mac guy, I bet it's totally tricked out, too," John added.  
  
"You got a Land Rover?" Andrew asked at the same time that Kyle said, "Who's Mac?"  
  
"Yes," Richie answered. "But I'm not keeping it. And Mac's this guy I lived with for a while back home. I worked for him, too."  
  
"Hell, does he do this for all his employees? Where do I sign up?" John joked.  
  
"You lived with him? I don't think he's over you, man," Kyle said.  
  
"What do you mean- - - Oh! No! Dude no, no, no! Nothing like that," Richie quickly corrected him.  
  
"Then what was it?" Andrew asked with a grin nudging Richie in the ribs.  
  
"A very long, very complicated story. But it basically ends up with us being friends. He's just older and richer and likes to give me stuff."  
  
"I wanna be friends with him."  
  
"He'll drive you nuts, trust me."  
  
"If he drives you so nuts why don't you just ditch him?" Kyle asked.  
  
"I kinda owe him."  
  
"So you pay him back by letting him buy you stuff? Sweet deal."  
  
"How do you owe him?" John asked becoming very curious about his roommate's situation.  
  
Richie thought for a minute. "I moved in with him and this woman as kinda a foster family-type-deal. About a year after that Tessa, the woman, got killed. We kinda bonded in our grief, ya know? Since then Mac's had this overwhelming compulsion to take care of me, and he does that by making sure I always have what I need and then some. He's paying for what isn't covered by my scholarship, and he fronted me some of my pay at work, and he's just trying to be nice, but it drives me insane. I don't need a car, I don't need a credit card, I don't need any more CDs, but I can't get that through to him."  
  
"He got you more CDs? What'd he get you?" Andrew asked throwing a glance at Richie's already expansive music selection.  
  
"I didn't look, if I look I'll keep them, and I can't. It's all going back as soon as I can figure out how to get it to Washington."  
  
"Can't we at least take it all for a spin?" John asked sliding off the desk.  
  
"Yeah!" Andrew and Kyle chorused.  
  
"You can't tell me you don't want to at least drive it around for a while," John said. "You know you want to."  
  
A smirk slowly spread across Richie's face. "It does handle like nothing I've ever had before," he said quietly.  
  
"See? Let's go."  
  
"Yeah, let's go show Jeremy; he should be getting off soon," Kyle suggested.  
  
"Can you imagine the look on his face when we pull up in that thing?" Andrew asked standing up. "C'mon Rich you gotta let us at least have a ride."  
  
"And test out the stereo," Kyle added.  
  
"Wadaya say, man?" John gestured to the door.  
  
"Well, he did say I could use the card for groceries. . . And we're a little low on anything resembling food," Richie said thoughtfully looking in the corner at the mini fridge and empty shelf.  
  
"And a little low on anything resembling what we need to buy the food, a.k.a. money," John pointed out.  
  
"And we could get some beer," Andrew said slyly. Kyle and John grinned appreciatively.  
  
"No, way," Richie said forcefully. "You wanna do that, then I'm not involved."  
  
"C'mon, man, we're in college it's time to party!" Kyle informed him slinging an arm around Richie's neck. "Don't be such a wet blanket."  
  
"Look, my situation is a little more, uh, fragile then you guys' is. As much as I want to, I can't. We go out tonight, it's all perfectly legal," Richie insisted.  
  
"Fine," John said. "Perfectly legal. Now can we go check this ride out in person or what?"  
  
. . . . . .  
  
After two hours of driving around with the widows down, the sunroof open, and the stereo up Richie turned around and headed back to campus.  
  
"There's a game tomorrow," he said over the protests from the back seat. "Game equals curfew, guys, you know that."  
  
"Is all part of your 'fragile situation'?" Kyle grumbled.  
  
"Yeah, it is. I can't risk getting caught, so that means me and my car are going to bed. You can do whatever," Richie shot back.  
  
"Come on, guys; leave the guy alone. It's not his fault he has conscience. And he's right, the last thing I want is to get caught and benched," John defended him.  
  
"Man, this is why we play football. No Coach Roberts and his stupid rules," Jeremy said.  
  
"Well Coach Roberts and his stupid rules are why basketball's in the Big Twelve and football's in the crapper," Richie said with a smug grin.  
  
"Oh, ho ho! How do ya like them apples?" John laughed turning to face Jeremy.  
  
. . . . . .  
  
"Dude, that thing is sweet!" John exclaimed stripping down to his boxers leaving his clothes in the middle of the floor.  
  
"Don't get used to it," Richie reminded him tossing his clothes onto the pile of dirty clothes at the bottom of his closet. "It's all going back."  
  
"All?" John questioned with a grin running his fingers through his shaggy hair.  
  
"Well, not the CDs. I don't want to be rude or anything," Richie answered grinning himself. Duncan had gotten him the new Will Smith CD, Elvis (which nobody else seemed to like), The Beatles, some girl group he'd never heard of called TLC but he like what he had heard, and Richie's personal favorite, Queen. "But the car and the credit card. . . Well the car is defiantly going back."  
  
"How can you say that?"  
  
"Because I can't keep it," Richie shrugged crawling into bed.  
  
"You should."  
  
"It's not your choice."  
  
John shook his head and turned off the lights. "Whatever, man." The room fell silent for a couple minutes. "Hey, Rich?"  
  
"Uh?" Richie grunted.  
  
"What is your. . . Why are you. . . Uh, how come. . ." he fumbled over the words.  
  
"Spit it out, dude."  
  
"Well, you seem like such a 'go for it' type of guy. I mean, I'd expect you to be first in line for a beer. But tonight, you weren't like that at all."  
  
"I just can't risk getting in trouble," Richie said. "We get caught, you get benched; I get tossed."  
  
"But you haven't done anything," John insisted.  
  
"It's a long story, trust me."  
  
"Its not like either one of us is sleeping."  
  
Richie sighed and propped himself up on his elbows. John deserved to know why his roommate was such a pushover goody goody. "Okay. But what I tell you, you never repeat, got it?"  
  
"I've seen you in the gym, Rich. I know you can kick my ass, I'm not gonna tell."  
  
"Okay. You know how I told you I did that whole foster home thing as a kid?"  
  
"Uh-huh,"  
  
"Well, I lived with Greg Masters for awhile."  
  
"Greg Masters as in the highest PPG* average in the NCAA?" John interrupted excitedly.  
  
"Yeah. So he played for Roberts in Washington when he was in school. And he used to take me to all the home games when I was a kid. After the games we would go down to the locker room and Dad. . . Greg," he corrected. "Would talk to Roberts and I'd bug the players, try on their jerseys show them whatever cool move I had just learned, give 'em a good laugh. For five years I was obsessed with getting straight A's so I could go to the games, 'cause that was the rule. Da- - Greg kept telling me that if I worked hard and kept my grades up I could play for Roberts, just like him."  
  
"So what does that have to do with getting into trouble?"  
  
"When I was 13, Greg's job transferred him. So, he filed for adoption. He promised me that no matter where we lived when I graduated, as long as I still wanted to, I'd play."  
  
"For Roberts," John added.  
  
"Right."  
  
"So the adoption never went through?"  
  
"No, I have this bad habit of getting attached to un-qualified parents. If you're single you can be a foster parent, but you can't adopt. Don't as me why, I don't think it makes any sense. So Greg moved and I stayed. Anyway, around my junior year Roberts moved here and because of budget cuts, there was no way I was going to get the free ride I needed to go to school. So I stopped caring. My grades plummeted and I started getting into trouble, even got arrested a couple times."  
  
"Woah," John sat up. "So why'd Roberts let you play?"  
  
"After school I met Mac, he kinda gave me the kick in the butt I needed to get going again. I've been trouble free for a year. And when I tried out, Roberts let me in as a favor to Greg. . . With a few very strict conditions."  
  
"Such as?"  
  
"My grades. Anything below a 3.5 and I'm benched. Anything below a 3.2; I'm out."  
  
"Damn."  
  
"You're tellin' me. No 'amended' tests, no skipping unless I'm on my deathbed, no extensions, no exceptions. I get into trouble with anybody; my boss, Profs, another player, another student, I get shipped back. I already have two strikes, I can't risk a third."  
  
"Look, man, I'm sorry we were teasing you earlier. If I had known. . ."  
  
"Don't worry about it."  
  
"So, you're letting Mac pay for school so you can do what Greg Masters promised you would."  
  
"Basically," Richie shrugged.  
  
"Does he know?"  
  
"Who? Mac?"  
  
"Yeah. Does he know why you're really here?"  
  
"No. I just told him I wanted to play for Roberts, I didn't say why. It'd bad enough I'm Mac's charity case, I don't what the whole world knowing that I'm on Roberts' good deed list, too."  
  
"Dude, it's not that big a deal," John assured him.  
  
"It is to me. So don't say anything."  
  
"Not a word," John promised.  
  
"Good," Richie lay back down and closed his eyes. It felt good to tell someone. At least there was one other person on campus that knew he wasn't a total pushover. Well, two. Miller seemed to have high expectations of what Richie was capable of. Richie made a mental note to find Mike and ask him about Miller.  
  
AN: I have been asked why Richie hasn't tried to get a hold of Greg now that he's playing for Roberts. Don't worry, that will be reviled soon. You'll just have to read to find out.  
  
*PPG average: Points Per Game (AKA Highest scoring player) 


	4. OH! My nose!

ONE MONTH LATER  
  
The bar fell silent and all eyes were glued to the screen. The camera zoomed in on Richie, center court, desperately trying to catch the blood pouring from his nose.  
  
"That was unexpected," the TV announcer said. "If some how you missed what happened, O'Neal from Missouri, just hit Ryan of the same team in the face with the ball." Richie was surrounded by people and undoubtedly trying to convince them he was okay.  
  
"Let's just hope he can hold them off until his nose isn't broken anymore," Adam whispered to Duncan.  
  
"Ryan seems to be okay," the announcer said as Richie was led off the court with a still bleeding nose. "And Coach Roberts is having it out with O'Neal at the Cougars' bench. Neither one of them seems very happy. Looks like O'Neal is benched, with both him and Ryan out of the game the Cougs are going to have a hell of a time keeping the Cowboys of Oklahoma from scoring and winning this already close game." The channel went to commercial.  
  
Joe chuckled lightly from behind the bar. "What are you laughing at?" Amanda demanded.  
  
"That O'Neal guy really has it out for Richie. That and I wonder what story Richie's going to come up with to explain his perfectly fine - should be broken nose," Joe explained innocently.  
  
"I want to know what story that O'Neal guy is going to have for doing that," Amanda huffed. "He could have ruined a very cute face if Richie wasn't who he is."  
  
Joe laughed again and this time Adam joined in. "Does the name Heather ring a bell?" Joe asked.  
  
"How about Heather O'Neal?" Adam added. "Looks like your cute face has gotten himself in trouble with the girlfriend's brother. Some of the Watchers have started a pool betting on how long Richie can last without pummeling the guy."  
  
"This could be interesting," Duncan commented. "How does he always do that?"  
  
"Answer that and the world's rotation will reverse itself," Adam mumbled taking a swig of his beer. "It's like he's not happy unless he's involved in some completely avoidable disaster."  
  
"Then he should be ecstatic, now. He can't keep getting hurt and somehow managing to be okay an hour later," Duncan said helping himself to another beer.  
  
"Well, reports from the team doctor say that Richie Ryan of the South Missouri Cougars is okay. He isn't going to play the rest of the game, but he should be back in by the Penn State game," the announcer informed the bar patrons. A small cheer went up from the crowd and a couple of Richie's friends glanced over at Duncan to give him a wave.  
  
"Looks like you have a home-town hero on your hands," Amanda said to Duncan.  
  
"He'd never come home if he knew about all the attention he's been getting," Duncan assured her. "That's why I'm meeting him at the barge; nobody in Paris follows American college basketball."  
  
"Is he letting you buy the ticket?" Joe asked.  
  
"Yes, surprised?"  
  
"Yeah, according to Mike that monster of a car you got him hasn't left the parking lot but once."  
  
"Once?" Duncan repeated. It had been almost a month since he and Amanda had surprised Richie at work.  
  
"The night you showed up with it. He and a couple guys from his floor took it to - -"  
  
"Let me guess," Duncan interrupted. "The store, right?" Joe nodded. "I knew he'd at least take the food."  
  
"You spoil him, MacLeod," Adam said knowingly. "How can you expect him to function on his own when you keep giving him stuff? Give the kid a chance to support himself."  
  
"He'll have plenty of time for that later. Right now he's getting an education. He shouldn't worry about working, I've got him covered."  
  
"Has it ever occurred to you that he doesn't want to be covered?" Adam asked. "He has a job, he's refusing your little present, give him some space."  
  
"Empty nest, eh Mac?" Joe said with a grin.  
  
"No," Duncan answered.  
  
"Face it, Duncan, you miss having Richie follow you around," Amanda said giving him a reassuring pat on the knee.  
  
"It's okay, I'm sure he misses you, too," Adam said with notable less sympathy than Amanda did.  
  
. . . . . .  
  
After the game Richie tried to sneak out of the locker room but was quickly spotted by the media.  
  
"Richie, are you okay?" a reporter asked cornering him. Richie squinted at the camera light shinning in his face.  
  
"Randi?" he said disbelievingly. "Since when do you cover sports?"  
  
"Since now," she answered with a smile. "How's the nose?" she asked holding her microphone out to him.  
  
"I'm fine. It takes more than a basketball to the face to stop me," he said forcing a smile.  
  
"What happened? Why did you attack your own team-mate?" another reporter asked spotting O'Neal trying to sneak by.  
  
"It was an accident," he shrugged. "You know that don't 'cha, squirt?" He wrapped his arm rather forcefully around Richie's neck.  
  
"Hey it could'a been anyone. But next time you decide to throw a fast ball, make sure you're on the diamond and I'm no where within hitting range," Richie answered with another forced smile. The reporters laughed.  
  
"So, are the rumors true that you'll be taking O'Neal's place as captain next year?" Randi asked Richie.  
  
Richie flushed a little. "I haven't heard that rumor. I'm sure I'll get my chance eventually, but not next year. There are some people waiting in line before me for that gig. You know, Sinclair, Brewer, Jeffries; I think one of them is going to get it."  
  
"Would you like to?" the second reporter asked.  
  
"Well, yeah, but I can wait my turn."  
  
"Now if you'll excuse us," O'Neal interrupted having heard enough talk about his team being turned over to a show-off like Richie. "It's past this little guy's bed time." He ruffled Richie's hair big brotherly, Richie yawned dramatic and swatted his hand away. The reporters laughed appreciatively at their antics unaware that it was a unique form of the fistfight both players wanted to start.  
  
O'Neal started to walk away with his arm still around Richie's neck, leaving Richie no option but to stagger along beside him trying to keep up with his long strides.  
  
"I saw you and Heather kissing last night," O'Neal said in a sugar sweet voice once they got outside.  
  
"So you nearly blew the game to get back at me?" Richie shot back; tired, sore, embarrassed and not up for having to put up with O'Neal.  
  
"If you'd just do what I told you, stop dating my sister, then we wouldn't have a problem," he insisted.  
  
"Like, hell," Richie said removing O'Neal's arm from around his neck. "This is your team and you hate that I'm on it. I don't particularly like playing with you either, you know. I'm sorry if you feel threatened or whatever but we're on the same team and you need to get a grip because I'm not going anywhere."  
  
"I don't know what you're talking about."  
  
"I saw your face when Randi mentioned me becoming captain. I'm not here to take over, I'm just here to play, so back off."  
  
"You know what, Ryan? We're going to settle this once and for all," O'Neal said putting his fists up.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Come on, man. Let's just get this over with. You think you're so tough with your martial arts and everything, let's see how good you are when it counts."  
  
Richie laughed. "I'm plenty good, trust me. I've gone up against people a lot scarier than you. And I'm not about to waste my time."  
  
"Come on, Ryan. Let's see what you've got." O'Neal gave Richie a shove.  
  
"No."  
  
"Scared?"  
  
"Not of you. I'm scared of getting booted off the team. I'm not risking it on you."  
  
"Nobody has to know, you can just say you tripped or something."  
  
"What makes you so sure I'd be the one needing the excuse?" Richie snarled being sure to keep his distance.  
  
"I know I won't." O'Neal took a swing. "You talk big, why don't ya back it up?"  
  
"Hey!" a voice yelled from across the arena parking lot.  
  
Richie froze. "Oh, man."  
  
"What do you two think you're doing?" Roberts demanded approaching them.  
  
"Coach, I didn't do anything," Richie quickly insisted.  
  
"We were just foolin' around," O'Neal shrugged.  
  
"Really?" Roberts inquired. "Then why don't you use all this energy you seem to have for something constructive. Suit up, both of you."  
  
"But, Coach," Richie protested.  
  
"Do you really want to push me, Ryan?"  
  
Richie sighed. "No."  
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
"No, sir," he corrected.  
  
"Then I want both of you on the court in five minutes. Better get moving the clock's ticking."  
  
Richie turned and walked back to the locker room. "Good going," he mumbled as O'Neal caught up with him.  
  
Five minutes later Richie and O'Neal were sprinting back and fourth across the court each trying to out run the other. Roberts kept them there for an hour making them run the stairs and do push-ups. Not before both boys were sufficiently exhausted did he let them stop.  
  
"O'Neal get out of here; Ryan, I want to see you in my office."  
  
After he changed Richie knocked softly on Coach Robert's door.  
  
"Come in, Ryan." Richie walked in and waited for permission to sit down. He wasn't given it.  
  
'This is it,' he thought miserably. 'Pack up; you're going home.'  
  
"Well?" Roberts asked expectantly.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Do you care to explain what was going on in the parking lot?"  
  
"I didn't do anything," Richie said slowly. "He's just mad at me."  
  
"So he decided to try to break your nose twice in one night?"  
  
"Coach, nothing happened, I swear."  
  
"I believe you, Ryan. Don't think I haven't noticed the way he picks on you. And don't think I haven't noticed the way you take it. I just wanted to let you know that if O'Neal doesn't straighten up he's going to get into some serious trouble. I don't want to risk the Final Four, but if I have to, I will bench him."  
  
"Why are you telling me?"  
  
"Because you provoke him, Ryan. And I know that you don't want to risk it for the entire team, and I know you don't want to risk any personal consequences, so watch it."  
  
"Okay," Richie answered not very happy that O'Neal wasn't getting this little warning as well.  
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
Richie cleared his throat. "Yes, sir."  
  
"Now get out of here. You have exams next week and I want to see some A's."  
  
AN: I have a request for all you Missouri-ans reading this. I'm looking for a cute little quirk for Richie to pick up while at school. If you have any suggestions please E-MAIL them to me at Gosalyn@hotmail.com. Thanks! 


	5. Throwed Rolls

AN: I'm back! Sorry about the long wait. I had exams, then all hell broke loose, but everything is okay now. Special thanks to Lorilei who told me about Lambert's,; which is an actual restaurant. Visit their site if you like www.throwedrolls.com. And always thanks to my beta LoMoRiBa!  
  
Richie happily plunked down onto his bed Thursday afternoon. "Thank God it's over," he told John who was sitting across the room with a similarly elated look on his face. They had had their last exam together and now they were through.  
  
"Those things," John said in disgust pointing at the large pile of books in the middle of their floor. "Are going back as soon as I work up the nerve to touch them again."  
  
Richie laughed. "And you can use the five bucks you get for 'em to go to Burger King for dinner."  
  
"Hey, that gives me an idea!"  
  
"How can you have an idea?" Richie complained. "My brain is on total meltdown right now. I'm lucky I can remember my name."  
  
"We should get all the guys together, sell back our books, and go to the most expensive place we can afford for dinner."  
  
"Cici's?"  
  
"No someplace cool. Somewhere we've wanted to go all semester but couldn't afford."  
  
"And still won't be able to afford. They don't give you squat for your books," Richie reminded him. "But I'm with you on dinner. All that test anxiety worked up a hell of an appetite."  
  
"Man, breathing works up a hell of an appetite with you," John said rolling his eyes.  
  
"And I've been doing that all day."  
  
. . . . . .  
  
"And the grand total is," Andrew announced drumming his fingers on the desk as Jeremy counted the last of the bills.  
  
"$268," he said with a grin.  
  
"Hell, yeah, finally real food for a change!" Kyle slapped Richie rather forcefully on the back.  
  
"Dude, I'm going you don't have to beat me into submission!" Richie exclaimed wiping Kyle into a headlock.  
  
"You're screwed," Andrew said bending over and looking Kyle in the eye. "You pissed the champ. Bad move."  
  
John laughed; Andrew had been calling Richie 'Champ' ever since he heard about the non-fight with O'Neal. "Well, Champ, where do you want to go to dinner?"  
  
"You guys pick, I don't care. I just want food."  
  
"Oh, have you ever been to Lambert's?" John asked counting the money again. "We could take the girls, too."  
  
"Let's go! I haven't been there in forever." Kyle said as Richie let him go.  
  
"Been where?" Richie asked.  
  
"We went there for my sister's sixteenth birthday. It was cool," Jeremy added.  
  
"What's the big deal about Lambert's?" Richie asked annoyed by his lack of information.  
  
"I'm with you," Andrew nodded. "What's Lambert's?"  
  
"That's right," Jeremy realized with a grin. "You guys aren't from around here."  
  
Jeremy, Kyle and John all grinned at each other. "We're going, we have to go now. We can't let you guys live here for an entire semester and not go to Lambert's," John said resolutely.  
  
"I don't like this," Richie said slowly. "I think maybe I just want my money back."  
  
"Don't worry, Rich," John laughed. "Just call Heather and tell her you'll pick her up at six."  
  
. . . . . .  
  
At six o'clock sharp Heather was skipping down the front walk of her sorority house just as Richie pulled up with John and his girlfriend Samantha in the back seat.  
  
"Let's go!" she demanded after giving Richie a quick kiss in greeting.  
  
"What's the big deal about this Lambert's place?" Richie asked for the fifth time putting the car in gear. "And where is it?" he added.  
  
"Go south on the freeway," John told him. "And you'll find out when we get there."  
  
"Do you have any idea how much I hate surprises?" Richie grumbled.  
  
"You're cute when you're mad," Heather purred lightly running her fingers up his arm.  
  
Richie laughed nervously and pulled his arm away. "Do you want me to crash or something?"  
  
"Really, Heather. I don't want to die yet," Samantha spoke up from the back seat.  
  
"Yeah, you two are disgusting," John added. "Get a room."  
  
"Fine by me, I'll just turn around," Richie shot back with a grin.  
  
"No!" His three passengers protested.  
  
"Throwed rolls," Heather hissed to the back seat. "You'll screw it up for all of us."  
  
"What rolls?" Richie asked. Everyone laughed. "Lemme guess, 'you'll see', right?"  
  
20 MINUTES LATER  
  
"Are you sure you know where we're going?" Richie asked.  
  
"There it is!" Samantha squealed pointing it out.  
  
"Finally." Richie felt a little stupid having not noticed it before. It was hard to miss the giant white letters spelling out LAMBERT'S CAFÉ on a dark green background. Richie pulled in next to Jeremy's van, or as they liked to call it the soccer-mom-mobile. Heather ran over to him as soon as they got out of the car and snuggled into him. "I can't really walk half carrying you," he teased her scooping her into his arms. "It'd be easier this way." She squealed happily and gave him a kiss. He stopped walking and the pair began making out in the middle of the parking lot.  
  
"You act like you just got married or something!" John exclaimed. "Dude, get over here, I thought you were starving? And you, Heather, weren't you just blabbing about throwed rolls and pass arounds?"  
  
"I forgot about the pass arounds," Heather said pulling away from Richie mid-kiss. "Get moving buck-o before the other guys eat it all."  
  
Richie rolled his eyes and carried her across the parking lot and out her down outside the doors of the restaurant. They entered the loud building and scanned the crowd for the rest of their group. They spotted Jeremy, Kitty, Kyle, Melinda, Andrew and Corrine at a large table in the middle of the room. They all filed over and took their seats.  
  
"What took you guys so long?" Corrine asked.  
  
"The driver didn't know where he was going," Richie answered looking over the menu.  
  
The waiter came and Richie couldn't help but feel a twinge of pity for him, large tables were the worst. They all placed their orders and then began to razz each other over their selections.  
  
"Could you have possibly gotten a bigger steak?" Kyle demanded of John.  
  
"If they had one, then yes, yes I could have. And what about Richie and his pound-o-catfish?"  
  
"Hey! I'm trying to find some decent seafood around here. It's not my fault I didn't grow up land locked like you guys. Hell, come to Seacouver and I'll take you for a McLobster value meal, I'll even super size it for ya," he grinned.  
  
"Do they really have lobster at McDonalds?" Kitty asked in wide-eyed wonder.  
  
Heather grinned. "I'll go and tell you when I come back," she said nudging Richie in the ribs. "But all I have to say is, ew, Andrew. . . how could you?"  
  
"What? I like it!" he defended.  
  
"Nobody likes liver and onions," Corrine insisted. "I'm not kissing you until after you disinfect your mouth. I don't even want to smell your breath."  
  
Heather leaned over and snuggled into Richie. "Are you cold?" he asked.  
  
"Yeah," she answered.  
  
"Are you planning on eating like this?"  
  
"I can try."  
  
Richie grinned and rolled his eyes. "I don't that will work. Here," he picked up the sweatshirt he had abandoned on the back of his chair and covered her with it as she settled back into his arms. "You can put it on when the food comes."  
  
"Oh, come on!" Kyle groaned. "You two, I swear, that's just wrong."  
  
"Don't listen to him," Melinda said swatting Kyle's shoulder. "He's just mad because you make the rest of the guys look bad, Richie."  
  
"Yeah, man. Stop being so nice already," Jeremy jabbed at him.  
  
"Hey, I have to live with the guy," John reminded everyone.  
  
"Let's play a game!" Kitty interrupted excitedly.  
  
Samantha laughed. "I spy with my little eye. . ."  
  
"No," Kitty interrupted. "Let's play Personal Trivia."  
  
"What's that?" Andrew asked.  
  
"You know someone puts out a category, like most embarrassing moment, then you go around the table and every one answers."  
  
"Okay," Melinda said scooting up in her chair. "Worst childhood injury. . . John."  
  
John rolled his eyes and told the story of falling off the jungle gym and breaking his arm. Then Samantha began her story. Slowly they worked their way around the table and made it to Richie.  
  
'I wonder, since I got shot at nineteen, does that still count as a child hood injury, or is that adulthood?' he thought to himself.  
  
Just as he was about to cop-out with a stupid story about getting trampled during a soccer game, a small army of waiters arrived with trays and bowls full of food. Richie looked around at everything trying to decide where to start. With a small pout Heather pulled away and slipped Richie's sweatshirt over her head before helping herself to a couple spoonfuls of little brown things.  
  
"What's that?" Richie asked.  
  
"Okra," she answered as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.  
  
"It looks like deep fried rabbit turds."  
  
"Well, you got the fried part right. Here try some." She pushed the bowl towards him. Richie stared at it for a second before popping one in his mouth.  
  
"What exactly is okra made out of?" he asked as he chewed.  
  
"Okra," Corrine, who was sitting on his other side, answered.  
  
"So it's, like, an actual thing."  
  
"Yes. A thing you eat. Don't worry, Heather," she continued leaning forward. "We have another three and a half years to work on him. He'll be southern by the time he leaves here if it's the last thing we do."  
  
"I don't know if I like that plan," Richie said.  
  
"Hush, you'll love it."  
  
"Who wants bread!" someone yelled on the other side of the restaurant.  
  
"Raise your hand," Heather instructed with a grin. Then Richie found out why they called them 'throwed' rolls.  
  
. . . . . .  
  
Two days later, Richie was on a plane to Paris.  
  
"Paris for a few days?" Heather had laughed at him after dinner at her parent's house. "How very. . . upper-class of you."  
  
Richie blushed. "It wasn't my idea. For some reason or another that's where Mac and everyone are right now."  
  
'It's never my idea,' Richie realized leaning back and closing his eyes. He really missed everybody and was glad to be going home. 'Technically the barge was home for a while,' Richie smiled as he remembered his first night on the barge. There had been a storm blowing, the waters were choppy, and he had gotten seasick. His first time on a plane, his first time out of the country, his first time on a boat, and the first time Tessa had stayed up with him all night because he couldn't sleep for all the throwing up he had been doing; all within a twenty four hour period.  
  
He found himself wishing Tessa was going to be there when he got to the barge. It had been a little over a year since she died, and he still missed her horribly. He liked everyone else, but there had been something about Tessa. Their relationship had started with Richie having a simple crush on her and it had ended as so much more. Richie couldn't describe it. He never really wanted to, just knowing that it was something he would only have with her was explanation enough for him. He sighed heavily and tried to sleep. The faster he fell asleep, the faster he would be in Paris.  
  
AN: More to come soon. I promise the wait won't be as long as last time. 


	6. Paris Part One: Telling Richie

Paul: Big mistake admitting to me of all people you're not a big Richie fan; you nearly sent me into hysterics. But that's okay, I'm always willing to be the one to convert people. And you wouldn't be the first I successfully brainwashed into liking the guy.  
  
Also, a little shameless self-promotion. I know some of you read my AU about Richie. (The Dangers of Holy Ground and the others). I got a request to do a story about Rylan and Duncan so I did one. It's called "The Grounding" and I would love for y'all to check it out if you get the notion. And as always please leave a review!  
  
Richie paid the taxi driver and thanked him before taking a deep breath and boarding the barge. He stopped at the top of the stairs and stared down and the door. Nobody was there. How strange. He wondered where everyone was; the only thing he could come up with was some new immortal came looking for Duncan's head, which made him worry. He hated being out of the loop. Sighing, he jogged down the stairs, fumbled with his keys and let himself in. He put his bag in his room, which had been dusted, and went to explore Duncan's leftovers.  
  
Twenty minutes later a buzz hit Richie. He didn't move from him relaxed position; sprawled on the couch with a plate half propped up on his chest, as he heard somebody hurriedly fit a key in the door, turn the lock and try to open the door. Richie laughed to himself, he had forgotten to lock the door and whoever was outside had done it for him. The lock shifted again and the door opened. Trying to stay nonchalant about the whole thing Richie didn't look up.  
  
"Hey," he greeted casually.  
  
"I smell food, it must be Richie," Duncan's voice said to the room. Richie could hear his smile.  
  
"I was hungry. And being the nice guy I am I figured I should save you from having to deal with this crap later," Richie explained with a shrug sitting up and making room for Duncan on the couch next to him.  
  
Duncan sat. "How very kind of you," he said dryly. "Nice weather isn't it?"  
  
Richie looked thoughtfully out one of the portholes, adopted his best poker face and joined Duncan in their game. "Yes, yes I believe it is," he said determined for Duncan to loose.  
  
"It's been like this all week, I hope it keeps up."  
  
"That would be nice." Duncan didn't answer. Richie looked at him trying his best to keep the smile from his face. He could tell Duncan was about to crack, the game was about to be over.  
  
"How's the weather in Missouri?" Duncan recovered.  
  
"It's cold. But it is winter, so what do you expect?" Again they lapsed into silence. Richie bit his lip to keep from saying anything.  
  
Finally, Duncan sighed. "You win, Rich. I can't do this anymore." He pulled Richie into a strong bear hug that Richie gladly returned.  
  
"It's about time, Mac. I was beginning to think you didn't miss me," he complained with a grin over Duncan's shoulder.  
  
"Not a chance, kid." They let go and stared at each other. "You look great," Duncan said ruffling Richie's hair. "A little on the scrawny side, though."  
  
"What?" Richie looked down at himself. "I'm not scrawny. Look at this." He pushed up the sleeve of his T-shirt and flexed his bicept. "This is not scrawny. Granted I'm no Stalone, but scrawny is not a word you can use to describe me."  
  
"How about bottomless pit?" Duncan asked gesturing towards the plate that sat on the coffee table in front of them.  
  
Richie thought for a minute. "That one would probably work."  
  
"How have you been?"  
  
"Busy as hell, but I like it."  
  
"That's good. I was half expecting you to complain the entire time you were here. You never seemed like much of the school type to me."  
  
"You'd be surprised," Richie returned with a smile.  
  
Duncan got a wide grin on his face. "Speaking of surprises. . ."  
  
Richie set his face in a scowl. "Mac, whatever it is, don't even bother. No."  
  
"You don't want dinner?" Duncan asked in shock.  
  
"That was the surprise? Dinner?"  
  
"What were you expecting?"  
  
"Knowing you something big and expensive."  
  
"Well, Le Cygne D'or is a little expensive, but it's your favorite and I figured you were sick of burgers by now," Duncan said. "But if you don't want to go, I can call and canc-"  
  
"I take it back!" Richie interrupted quickly. "I wanna go!"  
  
"Good, because we're supposed to meet everyone there in an hour."  
  
Richie grinned. "Give me a sec." He got up and hurried to his room.  
  
Duncan shook his head. "Some things never change."  
  
. . . . . .  
  
An hour later Duncan and Richie joined Amanda, Joe and Adam at Le Cygne D'or.  
  
"So, Richard, how is school?" Amanda asked with a grin after they placed their orders.  
  
"You mean how's Heather, don't you?" Duncan corrected.  
  
Richie grinned. "School's fine. I'm pretty sure I kept a four point this semester. And Heather is. . . great."  
  
"I want to meet her young man," Amanda ordered.  
  
"Or at least know what she looks like," Joe added. He had already gotten a complete description of Richie's girlfriend from Mike, but wanted to hear Richie's take.  
  
Richie blushed and ran his fingers through his hair. "Well, she's just a little shorter than me, dark hair. . . it's not black; it looks like it, but up close you can see it's brown." Adam rolled his eyes and groaned; Amanda kicked him under the table.  
  
"Keep going."  
  
"Um, green eyes, kinda an emerald green. And she's got light freckles across the bridge of her nose, and she's really cute, not like supermodel gorgeous, but just this you can't help but think she's cute cute." He paused for a second. "She's. . . I donno, just. . . there's something about her. She's so. . . innocent in the way she does everything, but you can, like, tell that she's been around, you know? And," he sighed contentedly. "She's got this laugh, this giggle thing; it sounds like something out of a cartoon. Once she starts up, you can't help but laugh with her. And she's genuinely nice. She's not mean to anyone; I don't think she can say a bad thing about a pile dog crap. She's the eternal optimist, always willing to try," he stopped again and shook his head slightly. "I'm almost scared I'm going to corrupt her."  
  
"Does she know about your um, 'sorted' past?" Joe asked.  
  
"That's the thing. Once we started to get serious I told her." He quickly glanced at Duncan. "Not everything, but everything else," he assured him. "She doesn't care. She's okay with it. She's really into me. And for once her folks like me, too."  
  
"You've already met her parents?" Amanda asked excitedly.  
  
Richie blushed again. "Yeah. They live about an hour and a half away from campus. Once a month she and her brother go to have dinner with them. This time they invited me, too."  
  
"Why didn't you tell us you were going?"  
  
"Cause I just found out about it. It was two days ago."  
  
"So what did you think? Do you like them?"  
  
"Yeah, they're real nice. It's kinda weird though. Heather's the one person with a more confusing childhood than me."  
  
"What do you mean?" Adam asked having unwillingly gotten sucked into the hub-bub over Richie's new relationship.  
  
"She lives with her dad and step-mom and three half siblings."  
  
"What's so weird about that?" Duncan asked.  
  
"O'Neal. . . uh, Alex, they're all O'Neals. Alex and Courtney and Brandon are all full blood siblings. Alex is the oldest, then Courtney, then Brandon. Heather fits in between Alex and Courtney."  
  
"How does that work?" Joe asked trying to put it all together in his head.  
  
"When Alex was three his parents had a trial separation. During that his Dad, Steve, met this lady, they got serious, and then he decided to go back to Melinda, Alex's mom. But not before he got Heather's mom pregnant. Ten years ago Heather's mom died, so she moved in her dad. Courtney was four then, a couple years ago they had Brandon. He's three now."  
  
"That is complicated, and confusing," Duncan admitted still not quite understanding it all. "How did the dinner go?"  
  
"Well, Melinda is a great cook. She made fried chicken. I didn't know you could do that at home, but it was better than any KFC I've ever had. Steve likes to tell stories; he's got a wilder imagination than me. Courtney thinks I'm cute and is waiting to pounce the second Heather and I break up. And Brandon. . . Brandon is quite the character," he laughed.  
  
"What did O'Ne- - Alex think of having you at his house?" Joe asked.  
  
"He wasn't very happy and had no problem letting everyone know. He refused to show. First I took over his team, then I started dating his sister, and now I've worked my way into his home. I think he's going to try to kill me when I get back."  
  
"Good thing he can't," Adam commented. "Have you run into anyone who can?"  
  
Richie thought for a minute. "Yeah, this one guy, Simon Miller. He's a history prof."  
  
Duncan sat up a little straighter in his chair. "When did you meet him?"  
  
"A couple weeks into the semester," Richie shrugged.  
  
"Why didn't you tell me about him?" he demanded.  
  
"I didn't know I was supposed to call you every time I met an immortal."  
  
"I just want to know that there's no threat down there with you."  
  
"There isn't, Mac. Just chill, all right? I got Mike to check up on him for me."  
  
Joe chuckled. "Like father, like son," he whispered to Amanda, who smiled at him.  
  
. . . . . .  
  
Richie sat on the couch as Duncan paced in front of him. "I'm telling you Mac, Miller's one of the good guys. You have nothing to worry about."  
  
"And what if he hadn't been, Richie?"  
  
"Then I supposed the class would have been canceled do to his unexpected disappearance. Don't you trust me to handle myself?"  
  
"I trust you; it's the others I don't trust."  
  
"Look, Mac, I'm fine, I'm here, there's nothing wrong with me. There's no need to freak."  
  
Duncan looked at Richie and his expression softened. "You're right. There's no need for me to get so overprotective. You've proven yourself before, you can do this."  
  
Richie quirked a lop sided grin. "Can you repeat that?"  
  
"You can do this?"  
  
"No, the first part. The 'You're right' part. I like that part."  
  
"Don't get used to that part, it rare that I'll ever be able to say it."  
  
Richie's jaw dropped. "You are so mean. I can't believe you just said that!"  
  
"What? It's true, and you know it."  
  
"Well, yeah, but. . . it's the principle of the mater. You're supposed to be my best friend; you're not supposed to say stuff like that!"  
  
"Watch me," Duncan grinned.  
  
. . . . . .  
  
Christmas night everyone gathered at the barge for dinner. Duncan had Richie running all over the city all day to pick up little things that had been forgotten. But, everything came together in the end.  
  
"That was wonderful, Duncan," Amanda said as they all settled in the living room after dinner. "You should cook more often."  
  
"There's nobody around to cook for anymore," Duncan shrugged. "Since somebody had to go off and be Mr. Big-Shot-Basketball-Star."  
  
Richie grinned. "Don't start that again. It's all your fault I finally caved, you know."  
  
"Everything's my fault as far as you're concerned."  
  
"True," Richie admitted.  
  
Joe laughed. "You really need to find time to visit an old man before you leave. I haven't had a chance to have you by myself. Mac's been hogging you all week."  
  
"How does tomorrow sound?"  
  
"Very good."  
  
"So tell us more about this Miller guy," Adam said. "How good is he?"  
  
"I donno," Richie shrugged. "It's not like I've tried to kill him or anything."  
  
"You haven't spared with him?"  
  
"Nah, I've been real busy. I haven't had much time to- -" Richie stopped. He'd already said too much.  
  
Duncan glared across the room to where Richie sat on the floor in front of Amanda who had coaxed him over for a massage. "You haven't had much time to what?"  
  
"To spar with anybody," Richie answered.  
  
"Have you even touched your sword since you left?" Richie didn't immediately answer. "You haven't been practicing."  
  
"Well, it's not exactly a common hobby you know."  
  
"So?"  
  
"So, I'm trying not to stick out too much. I've been doing everything else, I swear, it's just. . . pulling out a sword would be a little much."  
  
"Trying not to stick out?" Duncan repeated. "That's why you keep showing off on national television? So you won't stick out?"  
  
"Duncan leave him alone," Amanda said. "He knows what he's doing."  
  
"Mac, would ya chill? I just don't think taking a half a million dollar sword down to the campus gym is such a good idea. I've already attracted a lot of attention as it is."  
  
"Doing what?" Duncan demanded.  
  
"Boxing, karate, tai chi, yoga, picking up any weapon someone has laying around and knowing how to use it. I can write all that off as 'I worked at a dojo' fencing is going to be a little much."  
  
"He has a point, MacLeod," Adam put in. "But Rich, you really should find some time to spar with this Miller guy. You can even learn a few things from each other. No matter how good you are, not practicing can get you into a lot of trouble."  
  
"What if somebody challenged you?" Duncan asked his worry evident in his voice.  
  
"But there's nobody down there," Richie protested. "I'm the first immortal Miller's run into in six years."  
  
"That's not an excuse, Richie," Joe put in. "I've seen and heard about immortals more experienced going down because they thought that since nobody was there now, there wouldn't be later."  
  
Richie stood up. "Does anyone have anything else to say? Anything they want to put in on how I should run my life?" he asked glancing around the room. Nobody said anything. "You sure? Cause I'm leaving." Again nobody responded. "Okay, see you guys later." He turned and went to the door.  
  
"Richie, where are you going?" Duncan asked.  
  
"Chill, Mac. I'll take my sword," Richie said icily disappearing into his room for a second and emerging with his jacket and sword. "I'll be back later." And with that he left.  
  
"Well," Adam said breaking the silence. "That went well."  
  
Duncan glanced around at everybody. "I'm right aren't I?" Everyone agreed. "Then what is his problem?"  
  
"You did gang up on him," Amanda pointed out. "All he wants is to be an equal and you guys keep telling him what to do. He doesn't think he's a kid anymore. By our standards his is; he's inexperienced, young, doesn't know what he's doing. But by his standards, he's twenty and that enough to make him a man."  
  
"But this isn't just some little mistake he's making, though," Duncan argued. "This could get him killed."  
  
"So tell him," she shrugged.  
  
"We just did."  
  
"Then show him." 


	7. Paris Part Two: Showing Richie

AN: LoMaRiBa, the bestest beta in the world! And also the one who came up with then ending of this chaper. From the * on it is almost word for word what she suggested. Hope you guys like! More to come!  
  
"Hey, Rich, wake up," Duncan said turning on the light. Richie groaned and buried his face in his pillows to block out the light. "Get up." Duncan slapped him on the rear. He chose to pretend he didn't hear Richie's muffled comment. "Up, up, up," he chanted pulling off the blankets. Richie mumbled a few more choice words. "Come on."  
  
Finally, Richie rolled over and squinted up at him. "What do you want?" he demanded.  
  
"To train, come on, get up."  
  
Richie looked at his clock. "It's five in the morning."  
  
"Can't get anything past you. Get up."  
  
"Ahdon'wanna," Richie slurred hiding his face again.  
  
"Since when has that stopped me?" Duncan asked picking Richie up by his shoulders and forcing him to sit up. He handed him his sweats and slapped him lightly in the face. "Wake up or it will be all too easy to kick your ass."  
  
"It's always easy for you to kick my ass," Richie pointed out beginning to, somewhat begrudgingly, wake up.  
  
"That's why you need to train. It shouldn't be easy."  
  
"It's not a fair fight, though," Richie sleepily protested putting on his sweatshirt, not to get ready to train, but to block out the cold since his blanket was now lying on the floor. "You're older."  
  
"Everyone's older than you, so by your standards it's never going to be a fair fight. That's why we need to work on your skills, since we can't do anything about your age."  
  
Richie yawned and stretched. "You're not going away, are you?"  
  
"Not until I know you'll be ready in five minutes."  
  
"Fine."  
  
Duncan drove Richie out to the Paris countryside with the Green Day CD Richie had left in the car blaring the entire way. "I've been looking all over for this," Richie mumbled sleepily.  
  
"It's pretty good. I've been listening to it since I found it," Duncan told him pulling the car to a stop.  
  
"We train here?" Richie asked looking around at the field.  
  
"We train there," Duncan corrected pointing out a very steep looking hill.  
  
"There?"  
  
"That's what I said."  
  
Richie tried to yawn and sigh at the same time and ended up making a weird noise instead. "You're doing this to torture me aren't you?" Richie might have looked awake, but his voice betrayed him.  
  
Duncan thought for a minute. "Yeah, pretty much."  
  
"Thought so." Richie got out of the car and stretched and groaned still trying to wake up. It didn't help that he'd only had a couple hours sleep. He had wondered around the streets of Paris until two am, when he got tired of the offers he was getting from the hookers and the knowing glares he was getting from the cops. "Tell me why I'm doing this again?" he asked as he started hiking up the steep hill behind Duncan.  
  
"Because I told you to."  
  
"Note to self," Richie grumbled. "Require better reason to do things than 'Mac told you to'."  
  
"So tell me more about Heather," Duncan said after a minute. "How long is this fling going to last do you think?"  
  
Richie thought for a minute. "I think it's more than a fling. I don't know how long it's going to last, though. Hopefully a long time. I really like her. It's nice to run into a girl who has more on her mind than hair and make-up."  
  
"What does she do?"  
  
"Sings and acts. She's amazing, Mac, you gotta hear her some time. Mariah Carey has nothing on her. And she does impressions, accents, and writes her own stuff. Multi-talented."  
  
Duncan chuckled. "Already found that out, eh?"  
  
Richie blushed. "Actually, no. She wants to wait until she gets married and she's sticking to her convictions. As much as I'd like for her to give it up, I think it's pretty admirable of her."  
  
"Does she know that you've. . ."  
  
"Yeah, and I'd like to know how you know. And if you say Mike, I'm gonna kill him, because that's disgusting."  
  
"You're an easy book to read, Richie. Mike had nothing to do with it. I could tell the second you walked into the store after being out all night with Kira, I believe, that there was something different about you."  
  
"Kira wasn't my first time," Richie pointed out. "But I get what you're saying."  
  
"So does it bother you?"  
  
"What? That you know?"  
  
"No, that she won't."  
  
"Not really, there's something about not being able to get what you want, but knowing that if you play your cards right one day you might get it."  
  
Duncan stopped and looked at Richie. "Are you thinking about. . .?"  
  
Richie smirked and shrugged. "Not now. I mean, I'm only twenty, and I'm still in school, and I've only known her a couple months. Don't be stupid."  
  
"So how did you meet her?" Duncan asked starting back up the hill with Richie at his heels.  
  
"Comp Sci. I was working on this paper and she was reading it. I'll admit, first it was strictly physical, but the more I got to know her, and the more she got to know me. . . something clicked. Although, I wish her brother would just give it a rest. The team doctor is already convinced I'm a medical miracle, I don't know how long I can keep him from sticking me in a cage and poking me with things."  
  
"Maybe next time you shouldn't be okay," Duncan suggested.  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"Fake it. Next time you get injured, fake it."  
  
"Fake a broken nose? How am I supposed to do that?"  
  
"You can't keep being perfectly fine. How did you play off that ankle thing last week?"  
  
"Yoga?" Richie shrugged. "They kinda bought it."  
  
"They won't always. Just be careful."  
  
They reached the top of the hill and put their swords down so they could stretch. Richie slid down into a straddle splits and flattened himself to the ground to stretch his lower back and almost fell back asleep. Funny how just a year ago Duncan had slowly pushed him down into the same position and he swore he'd never forgive him for putting him in so much pain, and now it was extremely comfortable to him. Even though he didn't want to, he sat back up and watched Duncan stretch his calves.  
  
"Is it too late to say I don't wanna?" Richie asked standing up and facing Duncan.  
  
"Yes," Duncan smiled. "Well, let's get started."  
  
Together they started a slow, relaxing kata then began to pick up speed and soon they had gotten to the point where if anyone was dumb enough to step in the line of fire they would be dead. Duncan turned and challenged Richie to a weapon-less fight. Richie had been telling the truth, he had been practicing his martial arts, there were a couple times he almost beat Duncan. After nearly twenty minutes of full out battle they called it a draw and sat down the catch their breath. Richie rubbed his jaw and wiped blood off his lip and out from under his nose. Duncan massaged his aching shoulder and tried to find the pressure point to relieve the tension, Richie found it for him.  
  
"For once you told me the truth," Duncan mumbled.  
  
Richie grinned. "Thanks a lot. Some friend you're turning out to be."  
  
"So how rusty are you with your sword?"  
  
Richie's shoulders drooped a little as he realized what was coming next. "It's kinda like riding a bike, right? Besides, this stuff is so drilled into my head I doubt I'd be able to forget it if I tried."  
  
"I stand by what I said, Richie. You have to practice."  
  
"Mac, I'm fine, really," Richie insisted.  
  
"So prove it." Duncan jumped to his feet and before Richie could react he had his blade at the young man's throat. "I wonder how many times I'll beat you in the next five minutes?"  
  
Richie swallowed and lightly pushed the blade away. "That doesn't count, I wasn't ready," he insisted.  
  
"You never know when a threat will come your way," Duncan reminded him positioning himself behind Richie sword once again at his neck. "Just because things are calm one minute doesn't mean they will still be the next." He slowly circled Richie tracing a line around his neck. He could tell by his face that he was making Richie nervous. "Anyone can turn on you at any minute. Most of the time, you won't know its coming and you won't be ready. You always have to be ready."  
  
"Gotcha, Mac. Always ready," Richie nodded slightly and stood up. Duncan followed his movement with his blade. "Lesson learned; you can put that down now."  
  
"You're young, you still don't know what you're doing," Duncan continued following Richie as he backed away. "And one of these days, one of these days very soon if you're not careful, you're going to get yourself into a whole mess of trouble." His voice was low and dangerous; his expression sent shivers down Richie's back. Something was going on.  
  
Richie kept a close eye on the blade of Duncan's katana as his mind raced with possibilities of what was happening. Mac had snapped and was going to kill him, Mac had gotten tired of watching out for him and was going to kill him, Mac had gotten bored with him and was going to kill him, Mac was playing some kind of cruel joke, Mac wanted him dead, he had been stringing him along for the past two years so he could coroner him and take his head. . .  
  
Suddenly, Richie's eye caught a glimpse of his sword on the ground where he had left it. In one swift movement Richie ducked under Duncan's blade did a sort of half summersault on the ground and grabbed it. He was so happy to have the reassuring feeling of the hilt in his hands that for a split second he lost his focus. . . and his balance. He fell backwards from his squatting position and landed on his rear. Half a second later, Duncan was on top of him and Richie found he had two blades crossed at his neck, both of which were under Duncan's control.  
  
"Mac?" Richie whimpered.  
  
Duncan glared down at him. "See how scared you are? You notice the fear running through your body right now?" he demanded. Richie hastily nodded. "Remember this the next time you decide you don't need to practice." Duncan pushed himself off Richie, leaving his saber lying on his chest. "Imagine how much worse this could have been if I had actually wanted to kill you. How much more scared you would have been if you didn't have that little voice trying to convince you it was a test. A test that you failed." Duncan's voice was rich with disappointment. "I wanted to believe that you knew what you were doing. I wanted to trust that you were making the right decision. I wanted to believe that you were right. You were wrong, Richie."  
  
"It was a test?" Richie repeated standing up and keeping his sword firmly in his hand. "This was all a test?"  
  
"That you failed. You could have been killed."  
  
"Because of your demented joke!" Richie yelled. "What the hell did you think you were doing, scaring me like that? I almost shit myself because of you!"  
  
"Well then I guess you would have if I had been someone else," Duncan shot back at him. "This isn't a joke Richie, this isn't a game; this is life or death. Your life and your death. I can't keep an eye on you twenty four hours a day. I shouldn't have to. But you sure as hell need me to if you don't practice!" He began yelling and pacing and Richie silently watched. "Richie, you are a grown man, you need to start acting like it! I don't want to treat you like a kid, because you're not anymore. You're an adult and you're on your own. You have to make your own decisions, but damn it, you have to make the right ones!"  
  
"So tell me, don't give me a heart attack!"  
  
"I did! We all did, last night? You remember that? Right before you stormed out like teenager. Do you have any idea how worried I was last night? How long I searched the entire city looking for you?"  
  
"What? Mac, what is your deal? You worry when I have my sword, you worry when I don't. Make up your mind!"  
  
"I was worried last night because you had your sword and you were mad. When you're mad you pick fights with anyone who's willing to trade blows with you. I almost didn't expect to see you this morning," Duncan admitted.  
  
"You didn't think I was coming back?" Richie asked in disbelief.  
  
"I didn't know if you were going to be able to. You were mad and you hadn't been practicing. I think what just happened is proof enough that if you had gotten into a fight last night you would have died." Richie came to the realization that it was true and couldn't bring himself to say anything, or even look Duncan in the eye. "Richie, promise me that when you get back to school you're going to find a way to practice." Duncan put his hand on Richie's shoulder. "Talk to Miller, put out flyers looking for a sparing partner, I don't care if you teach John how to fence. Just find something."  
  
"Okay," Richie quietly agreed still looking at the ground. "I promise."  
  
"Richie, look at me," Duncan said gently. Slowly, Richie raised his eyes. "I didn't mean to scare you; well, yes I did mean to," he correct with a slight smile, that he was relived to see Richie return. "But it was the only way to get it through your thick skull that you needed to listen. I'm sorry you almost shit yourself."  
  
"Yeah, well," Richie replied. "At least it was you and not some head hunter."  
  
"So are we okay?"  
  
"Yeah, we're okay."  
  
*Duncan and Richie walked back down to the car and climbed in. The drive back to the barge was quiet, but neither felt the need to talk; Richie was thinking over what Duncan had just, rather forcefully, proved to him and Duncan was worried that he had lost the closeness of their relationship by his act. He was only trying to tell Richie what he needed to know. He knew he had taken advantage of Richie's trust by attacking him, but he felt it needed to be done. Hopefully, Richie would understand. The silence was broken only when Amanda greeted them when they reached the barge.  
  
"So, how did it go?" she asked.  
  
The two looked at each other and Richie replied, "Not too bad, but I think I need to find a someone to practice with back at school."  
  
Duncan smiled, and knew that their relationship would survive this hurdle. 


	8. Who are you?

The day classes started Richie looked through the history class schedule and found a time when he could go talk to Miller. He had been completely embarrassed when approaching the older immortal, but Miller understood and admitted to Richie that he had been hoping he would ask; he hadn't had a decent sparing partner in over ten years. And he was anxious to see if there was any truth to the rumors of Richie's ability. They set up a weekly match at 5:30 a.m. every Thursday morning on an old baseball field just out of town.  
  
It turned out Miller was pretty good, a little rusty, but Richie could tell there was a real force to be reckoned with after their first match. Miller also turned out to be a great teacher and decided that he would teach Richie some new tricks so next time Duncan decided to pick on him, Richie could surprise him with some new moves. Richie liked the idea of having something in his repertoire that Duncan didn't teach him. And having another immortal around to talk to was nice, too. There were some problems that John and Heather just wouldn't understand.  
  
. . . . . .  
  
"Bet you wish you were back in Paris now, don't cha squirt?" O'Neal laughed stealing the ball from Richie and taking off down the court.  
  
"I'd rather stay here and send you," Richie mumbled in French to himself before following O'Neal. O'Neal shot and made a three pointer (a shot he had been working on since Richie started showing off how accurate his was) and they set up for the next play of the scrimmage.  
  
As Richie moved into position a buzz crept through his body. He froze where he was and tried to spot the offending immortal; there was nobody to be seen besides his fellow teammates. Maybe it was just Miller coming to check out practice, but he had never done that before and had even told Richie during one of their weekly sparing matches that he didn't have the faintest interest in the sport. Something was amiss and Richie didn't like it.  
  
"Ryan!" someone yelled snapping Richie's attention back to the game. But it was too late, Sinclair (a large junior that looked like he belonged more on the football team) ran directly over Richie. Richie fell hard to the court landing heavily on his left wrist . he heard the snap.  
  
"Holy hell!" someone yelled also hearing the bone break. In a split second the entire team surrounded him and hauled him to his feet.  
  
"Coach!" Someone yelled. "Hey Coach!" They ran back into the office and brought the coach and the mystery immortal out onto the court.  
  
"Ryan, what happened to you?" Coach Roberts demanded spotting Richie leaning heavily on Sinclair. He felt nauseous and couldn't form any words to explain that he had felt another immortal and had gotten distracted, but he would be as good as new in no time.  
  
"It's my fault, Coach," Sinclair explained for him. "I ran over the little guy." Richie was in too much pain to be annoyed by the comment. "Snapped his wrist like a twig."  
  
"Ryan, talk to me, say something," Coach Roberts said gently.  
  
"I think I'm gonna puke," Richie moaned, his voice cracking.  
  
"Let me see your wrist," Roberts said holding out his hand. Richie held out his left arm, his hand seemed to almost be bent completely sideways. At the sight of it Richie began to sway a little. Sure he was immortal, it would heal soon enough.but that didn't mean he had to take pain well. "We have to get you to the hospital," Roberts decided. He looked up at the man standing next to him, the immortal. "Can you run practice until I get back?"  
  
"Sure thing, Coach," the immortal replied. Richie tried to get a good look at the immortal, but he couldn't seem to get his eyes to focus. Roberts took Richie by the shoulders and guided him out into the parking lot.  
  
In the time it took them to get to the hospital Richie's wrist was still very broken. Not as broken as it had been, but broken just the same. They whisked him off for x-rays and then sent him to get a cast put on. When they set the bone Richie could feel it begin fusing back into one piece. How he was going to explain this one he had no idea.  
  
"How is he?" Roberts asked putting a protective arm around Richie as they met with the doctor in the hall.  
  
"Well, I have to tell you, Coach," the doctor started. 'Does everyone call him Coach?' Richie wondered idly still working through the side effects of the pain pills he had been forced to swallow. "It was pretty close to a clean break." Richie tried not to grin. 'It was a clean break, at first,' he thought. "I give him a month at the earliest until he can get that cast off, maybe longer. It just depends on how fast of a healer he is."  
  
"I'm pretty quick at it," Richie assured him.  
  
"After that we'll have to see what to do from there. There might be some permanent damage," the doctor told them seriously. Richie tried to look worried, but he was so deeply drugged he wasn't sure what his face was doing. "We won't know until he starts healing."  
  
"Permanent damage?" Roberts repeated. "Are you telling me I might have to bench my star player?"  
  
"Well, defiantly for the next month or so, then like I said, we'll see."  
  
Roberts looked gravely at Richie. "Your father's going to kill me."  
  
. . . . . .  
  
Richie got put under some strange form of 'dorm arrest' for the weekend. He wasn't supposed to work, go out, do school work, anything. All Roberts wanted him to do was sleep. All Richie wanted to do was call Duncan, but John or one of the guys from the team was always around checking on him. Under any other circumstances Richie would have thought it was kind of nice. He had always secretly loved it when Tessa would fuss over him when he got hurt or sick. But what he needed to talk to Duncan about wasn't fit for mortal ears. Richie breathed a sigh of relief when Monday night practice rolled around, he wasn't allowed to go and the rest of the team had to. That gave him two hours to work everything out.  
  
"MacLeod," Duncan answered gruffly.  
  
"Whoa, catch you at a bad time?" Richie asked.  
  
"Richie?"  
  
"Yeah, what's wrong?"  
  
"Let's just say I'm starting to remember why I stuck you with all the paper work. What's going on?"  
  
"Well," Richie started unknowingly slipping into the same tone he had been using for years when he knew Duncan was going to yell at him.  
  
"Something wrong with Miller? Did he try to pull something? Are you okay?" Duncan rushed out.  
  
Richie smiled and shook his head. So much for not worrying. "No, like I said, Mac, he's one of the good guys. He's even teaching me this two sword technique."  
  
"It sounds like there's something more to the story."  
  
"Well, there is someone else here. I don't know who, though."  
  
"Did they see you?"  
  
"Oh, yeah," Richie drawled. "I was kinda hard to miss."  
  
"Stop stalling, Rich, what happened?"  
  
"How long do you think I can fake a broken wrist?" Richie asked slowly. There was a slight pause, then a steady flow of high-paced-Scottish- accented questions. "Slow down, Mac. I can't understand you."  
  
"What happened?" Duncan demanded. Richie went into the story careful to add every detail he could remember. "So you've been to the doctor's?"  
  
Richie tapped the phone on the hard plaster incasing his arm. "Yup, that was the cast. They want me to go back in a couple weeks for another x-ray. What am I'm going to do?"  
  
"Stall, it's the only thing you can do. And if they get you in there anyway, complain about pain, muscle spasms, anything you can think of to make it sound like you're still hurt."  
  
"But, Mac," Richie protested. "The longer this thing stays on, the longer I can't play. We're about to start the Big Twelve. We're up against OU! I hate those guys; I wanna beat 'em!"  
  
Duncan chuckled lightly on the other line. "You have three more years, Rich. Right now, you have to play hurt."  
  
"What about the immortal?" Richie asked. "If we get into it, all he has to do is take out my good arm and I'm screwed. I can't hold a sword in my left hand, there's a cast in the way."  
  
"So stay away from him. Talk to Miller; work something out. If he's as good as you say he is you guys can come up with something. In the mean time, I'll talk to Joe, you talk to Mike and we'll see if we can't find out who this other immortal is."  
  
"Okay," Richie agreed. "I guess that's all there is we can do. I'll talk to ya later, okay?"  
  
"Richie, are you sure you're okay?"  
  
"Yeah, just anxious, and worried, and confused, and mad, and.and tired. I think I'm just going to call it a night."  
  
Duncan could tell he was lying, but let him go. "Okay, I'll talk to you later. Call me if you find out about this immortal."  
  
"Sure thing. Bye."  
  
"Bye."  
  
They hung up.  
  
. . . . . .  
  
Richie woke with a start early Tuesday morning. There was an immortal near by. Quietly he got out of bed and crept his closet, drawing his sword from its hiding place, then went to the door. He stood silently trying to gather up the courage to unlock the door. Taking a deep breath, he slowly turned the lock gripped his sword firmly, and opened the door. He looked up and down the hall but couldn't see anybody. He heard the ding of the elevator arriving on his floor. Deciding he wanted to know whom it was he stepped out of his room and ran quietly down the hall. He turned the corner just in time to see the elevator doors close.  
  
"Damn!" he swore quietly turning and going back to his room. He stopped when he spotted a note taped to the door. "Damn," he swore again. He leaned his sword against the wall and opened the note.  
  
'Richie, it's been too long. Meet me in the gym at eleven. I know your class was canceled, so you have no excuse not to come. You don't need a weapon.'  
  
"Oh.shit," Richie decided. He heard John moan and begin to wake up so he quickly hid his sword once again and grabbed his cell phone before going down into the common room.  
  
"Pick up, pick up ." His knee bounced as the phone rang. He heard the click of someone picking up on the other end. "Mac!"  
  
"Richie?"  
  
Richie paused. "Amanda? What are you- - I don't wanna know. Is Mac around?"  
  
"Richie, we're a little busy," Amanda laughed.  
  
"I don't care, I have to talk to Mac now. Put him on," Richie insisted.  
  
"Fine," Amanda huffed.  
  
"Rich? What's wrong?" Duncan asked as soon as the phone got passed to his hands.  
  
"He found me," Richie answered. "And he wants to meet me this afternoon."  
  
"Who found you?"  
  
"The immortal."  
  
"And he wants to meet you?"  
  
"Yeah, at eleven."  
  
"Crap."  
  
"He's been researching me or somethin', he knows I don't have class," Richie answered a slight edge of panic in his voice.  
  
"You've talked to him?"  
  
"He left me a note on my door. He said meet me in the gym, I know you don't have class so you have to come, don't bring a sword." The note shook in Richie's hand as he spoke. "What am I going to do?"  
  
"You have to meet him. Take your sword, keep as much space between you as possible," Duncan instructed slowly. "Don't accept or issue any challenges. Just go, see what he wants and leave."  
  
"Okay," Richie answered. "Mac, what if it's an ambush?" Richie's time with Duncan had taught him quickly that some immortals go to any length to get what they wanted.  
  
"Not in the middle of a college campus. Richie, you don't have a choice, you have to go. Just keep your wits about you. You'll be fine," Duncan assured him unsure of the words himself. "Call me as soon as you leave tell me what happened."  
  
"Alright, sorry to interrupt," Richie offered in a half-hearted attempt to lighten the mood.  
  
It worked. "Don't worry, it's nothing we can't pick back up," Duncan answered a smile in his voice. Then his tone took on a serious edge. "You did the right thing, calling me. Don't worry about it."  
  
"Bye, Mac. I have to go figure out how to get my sword to the gym."  
  
"How about the traditional method of putting it in your jacket?" Duncan offered.  
  
Richie blinked a couple times; he had been wearing so many sweatshirts he had forgotten about his jacket's special accessory. "I will have none of your common sense so early in the morning!" Richie scolded. "I gotta get some sleep. I'll talk to ya later." They hung up.  
  
. . . . . .  
  
At exactly eleven o'clock Richie stepped into range of the other immortal's senses, but kept himself hidden behind the bleachers in the gym.  
  
"Right on time," the immortal commented.  
  
"What do you want?" Richie spat.  
  
"To talk, Richie. You don't have to be scared of me. Come out where I can see you."  
  
"That's okay, we seem to be communicating just fine like this."  
  
"Richie, I didn't mean to startle you; I know this is your territory. I've been watching you and I just want to talk."  
  
"Are you trying to sound like a stalker on purpose?" Richie asked smugly.  
  
"Richie, please come out and talk."  
  
"Tell me who you are first."  
  
"You know me, Richie. I want to tell you to your face."  
  
"You one of Mac's 'friends'?" Richie asked putting icy stress on the word friend.  
  
"I'm one of your friends, Richie," the stranger insisted. "Please come out. I'm not going to yell this to a gym."  
  
Richie took a deep breath drew his sword and stepped cautiously into view. "So tell me. Who the hell are you?" The stranger and Richie locked eyes. Richie took a ragged breath. "Holy shi-"  
  
"Ah! Watch your language."  
  
"Oh, my God," Richie whispered. 


	9. Shock

"Say something, Rich."  
  
"You . yo-you're . and-and-an-and I'm . but you ." Richie stuttered. "You're uh, um-ah-uh ."  
  
"Immortal?"  
  
Richie nodded. "That's the word I'm lookin' for."  
  
"A complete sentence! We're making progress."  
  
"When?"  
  
"Four years after I graduated. Three years before you showed up."  
  
Richie just stared. "I'm sorry," he finally said. "I'm in shock right now, be with you in a minute."  
  
"Why don't you sit down, Rich?" Richie nodded and sat on the bleachers and the immortal sat next to him. "Are you okay?"  
  
"I'm breathing," Richie answered. "When I remember to."  
  
The immortal laughed. "Still got a hell of a sense of humor, I see."  
  
Richie smiled. "Yeah, well, I've been working on it."  
  
Richie looked to his left at the man he never thought he would see again. He looked just as Richie remembered him, only a little shorter.  
  
"Have you left your state of shock, or did you still need more time?" he asked.  
  
Richie laughed a little. "I'm good. Just, this isn't what I was expecting."  
  
"You were expecting someone else?"  
  
"Uh-huh."  
  
"Didn't you see me Friday?"  
  
"I was a little distracted," Richie answered absentmindedly waving his cast in the air.  
  
"How is your arm?"  
  
"Would you believe it's still a little sore?" Richie admitted. "I don't even want to know what I did to it."  
  
"That Sinclair guy is a lot bigger than you."  
  
"Everybody is a lot bigger than me," Richie reminded him.  
  
"Everyone always was. You never were that good with pain. You used to cry like a banshee whenever you got remotely hurt. Bruise, paper-cut it didn't matter, you didn't like it."  
  
"Dad!" Richie rolled his eyes and flushed. "I was a kid!"  
  
"You still are," Greg told him, looking fondly at the boy he had claimed as his son for so long. "You hungry?"  
  
"Please," Richie rolled his eyes again. "Don't you know me at all? Of course I'm hungry. I haven't eaten all day I've been so worried about who you were and what you wanted."  
  
"Then let's go to my place. I'll make you lunch."  
  
Richie grinned. "Yeah," he nodded. "I'd like that."  
  
. . . . . .  
  
Richie leaned back on the counter as Greg put together a couple sandwiches. "Hope you still like the same stuff."  
  
"Yeah, my tastes haven't changed much," Richie told him still marveling at the fact that he was simply there.  
  
"Good," Greg nodded slightly as he carried the plates to the table. "Sit down and I'll get you something to drink." Richie sat and waited for Greg to join him. "You still like Pepsi?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
Greg sat down and looked at Richie. "You've gotten so big," he commented.  
  
Richie blushed a little. "Just grew a couple inches, that's all," he shrugged.  
  
"My boy's all grown up."  
  
"It happens."  
  
"I missed you, kid. You have no idea how much."  
  
Richie looked down. "I missed you, too, Dad."  
  
"God, I missed hearing you call me that."  
  
Unsure of what to say next they began eating. When they were done they sat in comfortable silence just looking at each other.  
  
"I could have sworn you were taller," Richie laughed.  
  
"I could have sworn you were younger." Greg sighed and put his hand on Richie's shoulder. "Rich, I'm sorry I missed out. You were a hell of a kid; I missed having you around. Everything seemed empty without you." Richie didn't say anything, just looked at him with sad, innocent, confused eyes. "What's wrong, Richie?"  
  
Richie jumped as if he had been startled out of a dream. "Nothing," he said quickly standing up. "But, um, I-I gotta go. I have work to do."  
  
"You can do it later. I know you aren't allowed at practice until Friday," Greg told him getting up as well. "Something's wrong and you should tell me what it is."  
  
'He sounds like Mac,' Richie thought. "I-I just, um, I gotta, uh ." He stuttered. 'Come up with something to tell Mac other than. Sorry, false alarm it was just my Dad!' he finished inwardly.  
  
"Richie," Greg laughed. "Come here." He patted the counter on the island in front of him.  
  
Richie rolled his eyes and bushed a little. "You're kidding, right?" he asked with a smirk.  
  
"No," he told him. "And I'll do you one better." With a smile Greg opened a cabinet and brought out a bowl of gummy worms and set it on the counter next to where Richie was to sit. "Get up here and tell me what's bugging you."  
  
"Dad," Richie protested.  
  
"I'll pick you up if I have to," Greg warned with a smile. Slowly Richie made his way in front of Greg and slid himself up onto the counter. Not two seconds later the bowl was in his lap and he was picking his way through the candy worms looking for the green ones and avoiding looking at Greg. "You know," Greg started knowing that Richie would tell soon enough. "The last time we did this you were twelve. With blood running down both knees all over my kitchen floor. It was a soccer game."  
  
"Yeah. And it was really muddy outside," Richie added grinning at the memory. "And I slipped in the mud and landed on some embedded rocks. I still have the scars from that."  
  
"And ruined your shin guards, and your socks, and your cleats. I almost had to get you an entirely new uniform."  
  
"Yeah, almost." Richie stuck a few worms in his mouth. "That wasn't the last time we did this, though," he said softly when he finished chewing. "I had just turned thirteen. And when I came home from school you had a glass of Kool-Aid and a bowl of gummy worms waiting for me. You know, I knew something was wrong the second I saw all that."  
  
"I always did try to make you feel better with food. It didn't work that time."  
  
"You told me we had to talk. And you put me up on the counter and told me that you were moving and I couldn't go with you. I left a week later."  
  
"Richie, I wanted you," Greg assured him. "To have that feeling that you were somewhere close by. To know that when you died, I'd be there for you. When I walked into that gym Friday night and felt that buzz and saw you stop . Oh, Richie, I didn't want it to happen so soon. I wanted to be the one to help you."  
  
"Why didn't you talk to me Friday?"  
  
"Honestly? At first I didn't think that you wanted to. You seemed to be pretty much ignoring me. I thought you were mad. That's why I put that note on your door. I thought you knew who I was, maybe just didn't completely recognize me."  
  
Richie looked at him then looked down. "I'm surprised you recognize me."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Nothin'," Richie answered hoarsely.  
  
"Something is bothering you, Richie. Something about me. And I want to know what it is," Greg told him in a gentle fatherly tone.  
  
Richie looked at him for a second. "How?" he finally asked. "How could you look me in the eye and make sure I knew how much you loved me, and how much I meant to you, and promise me you would come back, and then just ignore me for seven years?"  
  
Greg looked at Richie and swallowed hard. "I couldn't find you. After I moved they wouldn't tell me where they put you. They wouldn't forward a letter or anything," he explained. "Richie, I meant everything I said. I do love you, you're my boy, you always have been always will be." Greg looked Richie hard in the eye as he spoke. He was surprised to see not hurt, but anger.  
  
"Then why didn't you come back?" Richie demanded sliding off the counter. "You promised when I was eighteen you'd come back and take me with you. I'm twenty. I waited for two years in a city I hated for you. What took you so long?"  
  
"Richie, I came back. And I saw you with that other immortal," Greg defended.  
  
"Mac?"  
  
"I guess so. You looked so happy, Rich. I mean, you had a dad and a mom. I couldn't give you that. And you were happy. I didn't want to uproot you again."  
  
Richie looked at him and quirked his head slightly to one side. "When did you come back? I didn't see you."  
  
"Just after your eighteenth birthday. You looked like you had been shopping all day. I figured it was all birthday presents."  
  
"Just after as in a couple days?" Richie asked remembering when Duncan and Tessa had forced him into a shopping trip under the guise of getting work clothes right after he had moved in. Greg nodded. "Dad, I'd only known them a couple days then. Those bags weren't toys and junk, they were clothes, underwear, basic stuff that I didn't have. I had it kinda rough after you left, you know. I didn't have much. By the time I was seventeen I pretty much had nothing. Mac, the other immortal you saw me with, helped me out a little. But," tears welled up in his eyes and he fought them. "If you had come back for real, I would have dropped everything and left."  
  
"Richie," Greg pushed a few curls off Richie's forehead. "Drop everything now. This summer move in here, I got a room for you. I'll pay for your school, I'll take care of everything you need, I feel horrible let me make it up to you."  
  
"I'm too old for that," Richie protested pulling away. "Besides, Mac's got it covered."  
  
"Richie, don't do this."  
  
"Don't do what?" he demanded. "Forget about you like you forgot about me?"  
  
"Richie ."  
  
"What?"  
  
"You weren't exactly looking for me either."  
  
Richie's jaw dropped. "Me looking for you! I was a kid! You were supposed to be the one taking care of me, remember? You were supposed to get me! Not the other way around! I was the one who needed a father! As it turns out I." Richie stopped midsetence and looked away.  
  
"As it turns out what?" Greg asked slowly approaching Richie again.  
  
"I-I- I wanna go home," Richie said quietly suddenly feeling like he was eight years old again.  
  
"Richie, you are home. You're mad at me now and you have every right to be. But you're home."  
  
"I meant school. The dorm. I wanna go back, I don't wanna be here."  
  
"Richie we need to talk," Greg insisted.  
  
"Not now," Richie shook his head. "I have to think things out." He turned and headed for the door.  
  
"At least let me drive you," Greg offered.  
  
Richie stopped in his tracks. That was how it had all started with Duncan, a simple ride home. "I'd rather walk." And with that, he left.  
  
On his way back to campus his mind swirled with emotions and feelings he had never thought he would have to deal with. He had never defined his relationship with Duncan as more that 'best-friends,' but he was about to make it a whole lot more back in Greg's kitchen. Luckily he had stopped himself before he said 'As it turns out I got a father now.' That could have been disastrous. He missed Greg and secretly had warmed up to Duncan so easily because he reminded him of Greg. He wanted his Dad back. He was the reason he was here, but for some reason the entire time he was in the kitchen with Greg he kept thinking about Duncan. How would Duncan feel when he found out that Richie had simply used him to replace the father that had abandoned him? No, Richie hadn't used Duncan. He just found the right guy at the right time to help him. He hadn't gone into the relationship thinking about using Duncan's money to get into school, by that time he had all but given up on going to college and playing ball. He went into their relationship swallowing his pride and getting the help he needed to get his life back on track. Greg would have wanted him to, Duncan wanted him to, they both had the same reason why, and they both had the same intentions . they wanted a son. And they wanted Richie to be that son. Things were just stating to get a little complicated, but he could work them out. 


	10. A Simple Slip of the Tongue

Wednesday evening Richie pulled his car to a stop at the curb and looked up at Greg's house. He took a deep breath and got out. As he stepped on the porch the buzz hit him; Greg was home. He knocked on the door and took a few steps back. He heard the lock slowly turn.  
  
"It's just me," he called.  
  
The door opened. "I was hoping it was," Greg told him. "Why are you here?"  
  
"Like you said, I'm banned from practice, and I can't work, I got all school stuff done, and we need to talk," Richie half-rambled. "Can I come in?"  
  
"Of course," Greg stepped aside. "Have you eaten?"  
  
"I'm not hungry." Richie followed him to the kitchen.  
  
"This must be serious," Greg chuckled.  
  
"It is," he scowled. "Stop cracking jokes."  
  
"Okay, I'm sorry. Sit down, let's talk."  
  
Richie sat at the table, got restless, got up and paced a little. "I've been thinking about this," he started. "Yesterday, I . I didn't give you a chance. I got upset and left. Surprise, I over reacted."  
  
"No, you didn't."  
  
"Just let me do this, huh?" Richie thought for a second. He took a deep breath and slowly blew it out while Greg patiently waited. "I've been thinking about this ."  
  
"You said that."  
  
"Dad!"  
  
"Sorry."  
  
"I've been- I just wanna know . I just wanna know that you tried. And why. Why when you saw me with Mac . why didn't you at least come say hi? Or something?" he rambled wondering if he was making any sense. "It's like you didn't even try. That it was all empty promises. Like you gave up."  
  
Greg stood and put his hands on Richie's shoulders and bent down a little so they were eye to eye. "I looked for you Richie, I promise I did. Your records, they're confidential, nobody would tell me anything."  
  
"But you were-"  
  
"It didn't matter who I was. They wouldn't tell me. And when I saw you with . Mac . you looked so happy. You were laughing and goofin' off. I didn't want to take you away from that. For all I knew they were the foster parents you were put with right after you left."  
  
"You didn't even ask. I would'a told you."  
  
"You had found another immortal to take care of you," Greg told him. "That was my biggest worry; that something would happen and nobody would be there for you. I knew you would be okay."  
  
"But . Dad, why couldn't it have been you?" Richie asked grimacing inwardly at the unintentional jab at Duncan.  
  
"I thought you were readjusted. I thought that you were happy."  
  
"You thought, Dad, you thought. You didn't know."  
  
"I thought you had forgotten about me, Richie," Greg admitted quietly. "And if that was the case, I didn't want to hurt you again."  
  
"Well, I thought you had forgotten about me," Richie countered. "I almost gave up. Then I decided to look for you. The only way I knew how."  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"I came here," Richie told him. "See, Mac and Tessa, the woman you saw me with, they kept bugging me about school. For a while my excuse was I didn't have the money. Then Mac said he'd pay, not like a loan, more like an investment, or something, I don't remember exactly. I kept sayin' no. Then after almost two years of waiting for you and telling them no, I realized Roberts had a mostly senior team. He needed freshman to fill the spots. I figured . if I could get in, just make the team, Mac would be thrilled and you, well, you follow Roberts. So if I made the team, you would know. And if you still cared, you'd come find me. And if you didn't, I still had everyone back home."  
  
"Richie," Greg breathed. "I'm sorry; I don't what else to say. I messed up. I didn't think it through. I guess we know where you got that from," he laughed a little; Richie smiled. "All I can do is try to make it up to you. Let me be your father again. Let's just go back to the way things were. Like nothing ever happened."  
  
"But stuff did happen," Richie told him quietly. "You might want to know some stuff before you decide you wanna be my dad again."  
  
"Richie, what are you talking about?"  
  
"Maybe we should sit down." Richie took a deep breath and told Greg everything. He told him about giving up on going to college, about getting arrested, sent to juvie for a year, breaking into Duncan's store, Tessa, everything. When he finished he looked down at the table and picked at an invisible piece of something.  
  
"All that because of me?" Greg asked after a minute.  
  
"You didn't force me to do it, nobody did, I just . did it," Richie admitted awkwardly still picking at the table.  
  
"You did it because you gave up on me," Greg told him. "If I had just tried harder or came back to town to tell you what was going on. I mean, there are only so many Junior Highs in Seacouver I could have found like that."  
  
"Dad, it's not you're fault," Richie insisted. "It's mine."  
  
"If I had been there, you wouldn't have done it."  
  
"But you weren't and I did. There's nothing we can do about it."  
  
"You're right," Greg accepted. "Richie, Richie look at me." Richie slowly raised his eyes. "You messed up, I messed up; we both did. I'm not proud of what happened to you. And I'm not glad you did what you did, I thought I taught you better than that." Richie looked down again. Greg put his hand on his shoulder. "But it's partly if not all my fault ."  
  
"Dad," Richie protested looking up again.  
  
"Let me finish." He took a deep breath. "But if you can put it behind you and go on with what we had always planned, so can I."  
  
Richie looked skeptical. "You can?"  
  
"Of course I can, Rich. You're my son. Not legally, not biologically, but in every other way that counts. How could you think I couldn't?"  
  
"I don't know. But, you can and that's all that matters to me. I'm sorry . I'm sorry I let you down like that."  
  
"It's behind us, Rich. That's all there is to it." He reached over and hugged him; Richie gratefully returned it.  
  
They sat and discussed what Richie was to do about his arm. Physically, he was perfectly okay; the cast was the only thing keeping him from playing. So, they decided to fake it. They found a specialist (an alias of Greg's) in Florida and one weekend Richie went for 'surgery'. He still had to miss out on the Big Twelve games (Somo didn't make it to the Final Four, OU beat them out), but he had the next three years. The benefit of the 'surgery' was the cast was taken off; all he had to wear was a removable brace that enabled him to take it off the play basketball at a private gym Greg belonged to and continue his weekly sparing matches with Miller.  
  
Richie left his freshman year with a four point GPA, a steady girlfriend, the promise that Greg would be waiting for him next year when he returned to work on his law degree, and the overwhelming surge of relief that Alex O'Neal had graduated. He didn't take Greg up on his offer to move in for the summer; he went back to Washington to work at the dojo and help Joe out on weekends at the bar.  
  
. . . . . .  
  
"Hey, Rich!" Jordan, a regular at the dojo, greeted sticking his head in the office door. "When'd you get back?"  
  
"Yesterday afternoon," Richie answered.  
  
"Good to have you back, man. I don't think anyone realized how much you actually ran this place until you left."  
  
"I realized," Richie grinned. "You guys just wouldn't listen to me."  
  
Jordan laughed. "Well, we believe you now." He turned and left.  
  
So went Richie's first day back at the dojo. People kept coming in to talk to him and he barely got any work done. He liked it though; it was nice for people to finally notice how much he did. Everyone might have considered him nothing more than a glorified towel boy before, but that had changed. How did the song go? 'Don't it always seem to go, that you don't know what you got 'til it's gone.'  
  
"They paved paradise and put up a parking lot," Richie sang under his breath.  
  
"What?" Duncan asked.  
  
Richie looked up; he hadn't noticed Duncan come into the office he was so engrossed in the piles of paper work scattered around. "You know, Mac," he said with a grin. "It's sad that comparatively, I'm the organized one."  
  
"Between you and me, I've always known that. I just can't seem to handle all this on my own anymore, I'm too used to having you around to do the stuff I didn't want to do," Duncan admitted returning the grin.  
  
"Thanks, I think," Richie answered with a laugh.  
  
"You know something? You're different," Duncan said gazing at Richie across the room.  
  
"I am?" Richie asked quizzically. He knew he was different. John and Heather had mentioned it, too. Something about him changed when his dad came back. Richie left it at 'My dad's back, I'm happy' with them, but he hadn't told Duncan about Greg yet. Duncan didn't even know he existed.  
  
"Yeah," Duncan frowned. "I don't know what it is, though."  
  
"I'm just smarter," Richie teased. "Stronger, better looking ."  
  
"No you're not."  
  
"Hey!"  
  
"It's your personality, your demeanor, there's something different about it."  
  
Richie shrugged. "I don't know." Duncan tilted his head and stared at Richie. "What?"  
  
"I don't know what it is," he complained.  
  
"So give up already. I'm the same guy."  
  
Duncan shook his head and grinned slightly. "I missed having you around, kid."  
  
Richie blushed. "Well, I missed you, too. I missed being around."  
  
"You up for a group dinner tonight?" Duncan asked.  
  
"Sure, as long as you're buyin'," Richie answered with a grin.  
  
"Of course, like you pay for anything anymore."  
  
"You don't let me!" he protested.  
  
"As it should be."  
  
. . . . . . .  
  
"Hey, barkeep, what does a guy have to do for a beer around here?" Richie barked slamming his fist down on the bar.  
  
Joe turned around with a scowl that abruptly turned into a wide grin. "Turn twenty-one," he answered.  
  
Richie cast a glance over his shoulder at Duncan who was talking to Adam. He leaned over the bar. "I'm close enough."  
  
Joe mimicked his move. "When you're legal, come back." He put a bottle of coke on the bar.  
  
Richie tried to look annoyed, but couldn't hide his grin. "Geeze, thanks a lot."  
  
"Well, I don't know, maybe if you hadn't waited so long to come see me, I'd feel more generous," he shrugged.  
  
"Sorry," Richie answered. "Mac had me kinda busy. The guy has no mind for business; I don't know how he ever survived without me."  
  
"I've been hearing rumors about you." Joe changed the subject.  
  
"Oh?" Richie twisted the top off the coke.  
  
"Who's Greg Masters to you?"  
  
Richie choked on his drink. Duncan turned at the sound of Richie's hacking cough. "You okay, Rich?"  
  
Richie nodded and held up his hand. "Fine," he wheezed. Once he regained his ability to speak he looked up at Joe. "What do you know about him?"  
  
"I know that you've been hanging out with him a lot. I just want to know why."  
  
Richie looked at Joe calculatingly. "You already know why, don't you?"  
  
"I was curious," he admitted. "What does Mac have to say about all this?" In response Richie looked nervously back over his shoulder. "You haven't told Mac," Joe observed.  
  
"You're not going to are you?"  
  
"Should I?"  
  
"No," Richie insisted. "I will tell him, I just . have to figure out how. Give me some time."  
  
"He needs to know, Richie."  
  
"He will, I swear, just not now." As Richie finished his sentence his eyes dated toward the door. "Amanda," he told Joe.  
  
"What you have caller ID, now?"  
  
"I have a few tricks up my sleeve," Richie smirked.  
  
"He saw her car," Duncan explained having over heard the last part of the conversation (to Richie's relief.)  
  
"Richard," Amanda purred walking through the door. "I have something for you."  
  
Richie quirked and eyebrow and looked at Mac. "Great, you're rubbing off on her."  
  
"I'm not going to wait all day."  
  
"Fine, fine," Richie relented walking towards her.  
  
With quick speed Amanda grabbed him by the collar and pulled him to her planting a hard kiss on his lips. She held it for a few long seconds then let go. Richie stood staring at her in shock.  
  
"Nice to see you, too," he managed quietly after a minute. Duncan, Adam, and Joe laughed at his reaction causing him to quickly regain his composure. "But I have a girlfriend," he added walking back to his discarded coke.  
  
"Speaking of Heather," Amanda acknowledged. "When do we get to meet her?" Richie looked at her in slight annoyance. It was a constant question.  
  
"What happened to dropping it?"  
  
"I did," Amanda objected loftily. "You brought her up."  
  
Richie's jaw dropped and Duncan turned to hide his grin; Amanda was crafty. "You mean you . just so I'd ." Richie stuttered. "You know what because of that, and you guys laughing," he added. "Not 'til next year."  
  
"Aw, c'mon, Rich. We want to meet her," Duncan objected still grinning.  
  
"Nope."  
  
"Don't worry, Mac, I have connections," Joe put in.  
  
Richie turned to Joe, back to Duncan, then towards the door. "Since my opinions don't seem to be appreciated around here, maybe I'll just go stay with her this summer," he said with a grin. "They did offer, you know."  
  
"You're girlfriend's family offered to let you move in for the summer?" Adam asked.  
  
"Yeah, you got a problem with that?"  
  
"I do," Duncan interrupted.  
  
"What?"  
  
"You're down there nine moths out of the year for the next three years. You're staying here if I have to lock you in a closet."  
  
"None of your closets have locks," Richie reminded him with a grin.  
  
"The storeroom does," Joe suggested.  
  
"Good idea," Duncan grinned mischievously and slowly walked toward Richie.  
  
Richie backed away. "You were kidding, right?"  
  
"You've said it before," Duncan grabbed him by his biceps. "I'm too serious for my own good." He started pushing Richie toward the storeroom.  
  
"Mac!" Richie fought his grip, but wasn't doing much good.  
  
"Don't worry, Rich," Joe called after him. "That's where I keep the beer!"  
  
"Very funny!" Richie shot back as Adam opened the door for Duncan. "Mac!" He lifted his legs and braced himself against the door.  
  
"Looks like you're trying to put a cat in a carrier," Adam chuckled holding the door ready to close it as soon as Richie was inside.  
  
His comment did the trick Richie twisted to glare at him, with a grin Adam pushed Richie's foot off the doorframe giving Duncan the opportunity to push Richie into the small room. Richie never gained his footing and landed hard on his butt.  
  
"See you at breakfast," Duncan chuckled as Adam closed the door.  
  
"Hey!" Richie yelled as the door closed in his face. He heard the lock secure him inside. "Hey! C'mon!" he pounded the door with his fists. "This isn't funny!"  
  
"Sure it is!" Adam yelled back.  
  
"Lemme out!" The adults started laughing. "You guys!" Richie whined. "Joe! Amanda! Adam! Mac!"  
  
Duncan grinned. "Here it comes, the patented Richie Ryan 'Maa-aac' whine."  
  
"Daa-aad!"  
  
Everything went silent. The adults stopped laughing and Richie stopped pounding. 


	11. Excuses, excuses

AN: Hey I'm back. Sorry for the wait, hell of a case of writer's block. Many thanks and big ol' hugs to Lori for helping me so much this chap! She kinda co-authored it and actually wrote a decent-sized part of it. She's the reason this came out a fast as it did. More to come soon!  
  
The bar was silent. Richie stood among the boxes of beer and various other liquors staring at the door willing it to stay closed. Duncan stood on the other side trying to work up the nerve to turn the lock. He took a deep breath and reached for it. Richie swallowed as he heard someone unlocking the door and turning the handle. Quickly he stepped back cast his eyes to the ground.  
  
"Rich?" Duncan asked tentatively stepping into the small room. Richie swallowed and scooted slightly to the side to make room for the other man. "Richie." Duncan tried again reaching out to him. Richie jumped away from the touch and bolted out of the room slamming the door shut behind him. "Richie!"  
  
Richie leaned against the door, happy to be on the other side, and looked at the others with a shy grin. They stared back and Duncan began pounding on the door. "Richie! Let me out!"  
  
"Now you know how it feels!" Richie called back moving toward Amanda, Adam, and Joe who were all still trying to work out the situation. "Just give me a decent head start?"  
  
Slowly Adam grinned and chuckled lightly. "I'll give you all the time you want. I've wanted to do that for a long time."  
  
"Just give me a couple minutes," Richie grinned back. By the time he got back to the dojo and Duncan joined him he would have had time to work out a plan. "Thanks." With a wave he turned on his heel and left.  
  
"He's not embarrassed," Amanda commented as he left.  
  
"Just clever," Adam answered.  
  
"He's clever, alright," Joe agreed. "But this may be the last time we ever see him. I wonder how long it will take Mac to realize Richie didn't lock the door?"  
  
As it turned out it took Duncan about two minutes to realize he never tried the handle. When he emerged from the storeroom he wasn't surprised to see Richie gone. "I think we may have to skip dinner. Richie and I need to talk," he said grabbing his jacket off a near by bar stool. "Maybe some other time."  
  
"If the kid survives the lesson," Adam agreed. "Give my regards to your son," he added raising his beer in solute. Amanda slapped him on the shoulder and gave him a stern look.  
  
. . . . . .  
  
"I figured dinner was off and you wanted to talk," Richie said from the couch as soon as Duncan opened the elevator gate.  
  
"You figured right," Duncan nodded.  
  
"Thought so." Richie propped his feet up on the coffee table and folded his hands behind his head looking the epitome of the smug young man Duncan was trying to keep him from becoming. "Well?"  
  
"I thought maybe you'd want to start."  
  
"I'm fine. You're the one who wants to talk," he returned.  
  
"Okay. Did I hear you right?" Duncan asked trying to get Richie to admit what happened.  
  
"You mean; did I call you dad? Yeah, you heard me right."  
  
Duncan paused. He hadn't expected Richie to put it so bluntly. Their relationship had always been hard to define. Strangers often mistook them for father and son. They usually just laughed it off and went on with their lives. Neither one had ever admitted any sort of feeling other than a close friendship. And for Richie to admit his slip so openly was out of character for the young man.  
  
"Why did you say that?" Duncan asked. "Not that I mind," he quickly added. "I just never expected you to."  
  
"Don't get your panties in a wad about it," Richie laughed. "I didn't mean it."  
  
"Then why did you say it?" Duncan tried his best not to look as hurt as he felt.  
  
Richie smirked. "Because it made you do what I wanted you to." Duncan just looked at him. "It got me out of the closet, didn't it?"  
  
Duncan stopped and thought about it, then a smile slowly spread across his face. "You little manipulator!"  
  
"Well, it worked!" Richie defended.  
  
"I can't believe you did that."  
  
"I'm claustrophobic," Richie lied. "I was starting to panic."  
  
"So you played on the fact that you refuse to -"  
  
"Do stuff like that? Yeah."  
  
"Then you played shy and embarrassed -"  
  
"To turn the tables."  
  
Duncan sat on the couch next to Richie and ruffled his hair. "You're getting too smart for me."  
  
"It was your idea for me to go to college," Richie grinned back happy to have avoided the inevitable disaster that would soon come for the time being.  
  
. . . . . .  
  
The next afternoon Joe arrived at the dojo to see how Richie and Duncan had worked things out. When he got there he found Duncan in the office.  
  
"Hey, Joe!" Duncan greeted. "What are you doing here?"  
  
"Just came by to see what happened last night," Joe shrugged.  
  
"We talked. He explained what he was thinking when he said what he did. I just haven't decided if I believe him or not."  
  
Joe quirked a brow. "What did he tell you?"  
  
"He wanted out and he knew that that was the one thing that would get him out. So he did it."  
  
"And you think there's more to the story," Joe stated.  
  
"I think he hasn't decided if there's more to the story," Duncan told him perching on the corner of his desk. "He'll tell me when he's ready."  
  
"You're not going to push this?"  
  
"I'm going to try not to. Joe, I really wonder about him sometimes," Duncan admitted. "There are so many contradictions about him. I mean when I met him, here was this young, punk thief with a big mouth and a bad attitude. He got on my nerves faster than anyone I had ever known. He made it seem like he had this horribly traumatic childhood, which is entirely possible. But then, where did he get his manners? His people skills? His work ethic? If his life was as terrible as he makes it out to be, why is he so normal?"  
  
"Normal?" Joe chuckled.  
  
"As much as he can be."  
  
"Maybe he just hasn't told you everything," Joe suggested.  
  
"I know he hasn't told me everything; he's barely told me anything. But whatever the truth is it can't be worse than what I've imagined. There are so many possibilities of what could have happened to him. I just want to know."  
  
"Know what?" Richie asked entering the office.  
  
Duncan looked up with a slight grin. "Why you're late."  
  
"I'm not!" Richie defended. "I've been down here all morning!"  
  
"Sorry," Duncan shrugged. "Force of habit."  
  
Richie grinned and rolled his eyes. "I wasn't that bad."  
  
"Yeah, you were, Rich," Duncan assured him.  
  
Richie ignored him. "Hey, Joe. What's up?"  
  
"Just came by to make sure you two didn't get into it last night," Joe explained giving the young man a pointed look, which Duncan noticed.  
  
"Hey, Richie!" somebody called from on the mats. Richie glanced over his shoulder and nodded.  
  
"Talk to you later. Bryan wants a rematch. Can't stand that a kid beat him," he grinned leaving the office again.  
  
"You know," Duncan said as soon as Richie was out of hearing range.  
  
"I told him I wouldn't tell you," Joe insisted.  
  
"Just tell me if it's good or bad."  
  
"It depends on how you look at it."  
  
"Depends on how you look at it? Come on, Joe. Tell me." Mac practically shouted.  
  
"I can't do that. I promised Richie that I'd let him tell you." Joe's face showed how conflicted he was. He was good friends with both men; Mac was one of his closest and Richie was almost like a son to him. Not like the kid needed another father; he already had two, but.still. "Rich just needs to figure how to tell you.he's afraid that you'll be hurt, overreact, do something rash. You're an important part of his life and he's afraid of losing you," Joe's voice trailed off. He watched Richie warm up on the mats outside the door in preparation for his match with Bryan.  
  
"It's that bad?" Mac hesitantly asked, for the first time sensing how serious the situation was. He had just thought that Richie was having a hard time accepting that the two of them had gotten so close. Now he didn't know what to think. What would be so shattering that Richie would think that he would send the kid away?  
  
"NO! I don't think it's bad at all, but I couldn't really find much information in the database about Mast." Joe stopped suddenly, realizing that he had said just a little too much.  
  
"Database? Why would you be looking in the database? Is there another immortal at Richie's school? Have they been giving Rich a hard time? I'll go down there and make sure that Richie will be safe." Mac started to mentally arrange his schedule so that he could fly out that night and be back by tomorrow afternoon.  
  
"Slow down! No, Richie isn't having trouble, I said too much. Just ignore this old man and wait for Richie to tell you when he's ready. Nothing is wrong. Okay?" Joe started to panic, recognizing Duncan MacLeod's famous 'I'm going to hunt down and kill whatever is ruining my sense of perfectedness' face.  
  
Duncan didn't have time to respond as Richie walked in the office. "Hey, is everything all right? Joe doesn't look so good."  
  
"Richie! What's going on at school? Joe just said you're having trouble with an immortal!" Mac jumped in without thinking.  
  
"Joe! What are you telling Mac? There are no immortals other than Miller at school, Mac."  
  
"Sorry kid, I didn't tell him much, but I kinda slipped. Just that I didn't have much in the database about Masters. Nothing else." Joe was upset. He didn't usually make stupid mistakes like he had made with Mac. He didn't mean to pressure Richie; he had promised that he'd give the kid time to tell Mac and now the boy would be forced to tell his mentor. Mac would refuse to give up without finding out every detail.  
  
Richie sighed. He knew that Joe had made an honest mistake. He wouldn't betray him. He knew that he'd have to tell Duncan sooner or later about Greg, and he guessed it would sooner. "Just give me a second, Mac; I want to tell Bryan his match needs to be postponed. This will take a while." Richie walked to the door and called out to his friend. "Bryan, I have to talk with Mac. Rain check?"  
  
"Sure, I'll be in tomorrow. Be here so I can kick your ass!"  
  
"Sure, sure, whatever you say," Richie chuckled and turned back to Mac, his face turning serious as he shut the door.  
  
"Well?" Duncan demanded expectantly. Richie swallowed and looked him in the eye before shifting his gaze to his bare feet. "Richie, what's going on, who is Masters?"  
  
"A guy," Richie answered carefully. He had no idea how to tell Duncan. He had a plan, but it involved the opening of 'Mac, I need to tell you something' not 'I have to tell you because Joe slipped and now you're freaked'.  
  
"That's real helpful, Rich."  
  
"Look would you just give me a sec!" Richie snapped.  
  
"Maybe I should leave," Joe said turning toward the door.  
  
"No, I want you to stay," Duncan stopped him.  
  
"No, leave," Richie contradicted.  
  
Joe nodded, "I'll wait outside," he compromised.  
  
"Richie, you've got to tell me what's going on down there," Duncan half pleaded.  
  
"Can we do this upstairs?" he asked quietly. "It could get noisy."  
  
"Okay," Duncan consented, opening the door for Richie. Quickly Richie moved past him and to the elevator; Duncan followed. When they got to the loft Richie moved into the kitchen and began searching the refrigerator.  
  
"You hungry, Mac?" he asked hopefully.  
  
"I'm worried, Richie," Duncan answered putting his hands on Richie's shoulders and leading him to the couch. "What aren't you telling me?" The boy pulled at the fabric of his sweat pants and refused to look at Duncan. "Whatever it is, it can't be as bad as you're making it out to be," he assured him softly. "You were always the dramatic one." He saw Richie grin slightly. "What happened?"  
  
"It's a long story."  
  
"So start it," he prompted gently giving the boy a slight nudge.  
  
"The reason I want to play for Roberts is more than that I just like his team," Richie began. Duncan nodded and waited for him to continue. "I wanted to play for him because Greg Masters did."  
  
"So Greg is your hero?" Duncan supplied.  
  
"Among other things," he consented.  
  
"He's teaching you?"  
  
"He has."  
  
Duncan thought for a minute then shook his head. "I don't see what the big deal is, Rich."  
  
"Because I haven't told you the big deal part, yet."  
  
"What is it then? Richie, if you're worried that I'm mad that you found another teacher, you're wrong. Immortals have multiple teachers; everyone needs all the experience they can get. Richie, I think you're making a big deal out of nothing."  
  
"He's my dad!" Richie blurted his voice breaking. He let out a shaky breath and looked up to Duncan to get his reaction.  
  
Duncan stared at him for a minute. "Rich," he started quietly. "We've been over this; you don't have a dad, none of us do."  
  
"Not my real dad," Richie clarified. "I know that. But he has been. since I was eight."  
  
"He was a foster dad," Duncan realized. "And he's immortal and you ran into him again."  
  
"He's the reason I went to Missouri," Richie added quietly getting up from the couch. "He's always wanted me to play for Roberts; I knew that if he still cared he'd come find me if I just let him know where I was."  
  
"Richie, you've been in the same place since you were a baby," Duncan reminded him. "Why didn't he find you before?"  
  
"He wasn't here; he had to move. He tried to adopt me, but they wouldn't let him. So he had to leave me."  
  
"How long did it take him to find you again?"  
  
"Seven years."  
  
"Richie, don't you think he would have tried before now?"  
  
"He did," Richie told him. "He came back. He came to get me like he promised. He did, Mac, he did."  
  
"I don't get what you're saying," Duncan admitted.  
  
"When I was thirteen and he had to leave he promised when I turned eighteen he'd come back. He'd come back and take me with him to wherever he lived; we'd be a family again."  
  
"When you were eighteen you were living with us, did he come back then?"  
  
"Yes. That's why he didn't take me, he saw me with you guys and figured that I was happy and he didn't want to make me leave again, he didn't want to make me choose."  
  
Duncan fought the urge to point out all the holes in Greg's excuse for not getting Richie. "So when he found out you were playing in Missouri he came to see you. You've known about this all year?" he asked carefully.  
  
"No," Richie shook his head. "He came back this semester. He was the immortal who wanted to talk to me after I broke my wrist. He was the one who helped me fake it; he kept me away from the doctors. Stepped in as my dad and took over."  
  
"You told me Miller did that," he pointed out. "Richie, you lied to me. again."  
  
Richie's face paled and he swallowed. "Mac."  
  
"Richie, you can't keep doing this," Duncan told him in a calm, rational voice that Richie hadn't been expecting. Yelling would have been better. "You have to trust me. I'm not going to freak out because you had a life before me, I don't mind that you have a dad, I do mind that you're lying. I deserve the truth. I've never lied to you; I don't know how long you've been lying to me."  
  
"Mac, I'm sorry. I didn't know how to tell you," Richie told him softly staring up at him with sincerity. "I've been trying to think of a way since I met you practically. I knew you were going to get mad either way."  
  
"Why would I be mad that you have a father?" Duncan demanded finally letting his voice rise. "Richie, you are a grown up, I've told you this before. Why is it so hard for you to act like it?"  
  
"Mac."  
  
"It's not hard Richie. You seem to be able to pretend to do it, why can't you just do it?"  
  
"Mac, I can explain."  
  
"Weren't you the least bit hurt that he ignored you for seven years?" Duncan demanded. By the look on Richie's face he could tell he hit a sensitive point.  
  
"Yeah, I was. I was pissed. I wanted yell and scream at him for doing that to me," Richie admitted. "But I didn't, I left. I waited until the next day when I knew I was thinking clearly and went back. You taught me that." Richie turned and went to the spiral staircase in the back corner of the loft.  
  
"At least I know you didn't completely ignore me," Duncan returned going for the elevator. In their frustration they didn't notice the way their personalities mirrored each other. 


	12. Nightmares

Joe was still in the dojo when Duncan came storming out of the elevator. One glance at Duncan's face and Joe knew he was trying to hide how hurt he was by the whole situation.  
  
"He told you?" Joe offered trying to get Duncan to talk.  
  
"He told me," he returned gruffly not stopping as he continued for the door.  
  
"What happened, MacLeod?" Bryan asked as Duncan brushed past him. "What'd the kid do?" Duncan just glared at him over his shoulder. "Sorry I asked, man."  
  
Joe sighed and went to the elevator. If Duncan came down, that meant Richie went up. Maybe Richie would be willing to talk;, he doubted it, but he figured he should at least try. Sure enough, Richie stayed true to his character and Joe found Richie on the roof sitting on the transformer in a near lotus position staring at the city. He turned when he heard the roof gravel crunch under Joe's feet.  
  
"I should have never told him," Richie said softly turning to stare again.  
  
"You should have told him earlier," Joe corrected. "Before he got a chance to get so attached."  
  
"But by the time he got attached, I figured it didn't matter anymore," the boy defended. Funny, how everyone thought of him as a young man until he got in trouble then he was once again just a kid, the boy that hung around because he could.  
  
"Why would you say that?" Joe prompted, relieved and confused at Richie's out of character willingness to share.  
  
"Because I figured Dad wasn't coming back."  
  
"And why didn't you tell him before?"  
  
"Because I didn't know him."  
  
"Rich," Joe leaned on the transformer box. "Why didn't you tell him when you got to know him?"  
  
Richie paused and thought about it. "I guess because. I didn't wanna hurt them." Joe had to think about who the other part of the 'them' was; it was Tessa. "I mean, how would you feel if you took in this kid who didn't deserve any of the stuff you did for him especially from you, and he just said 'By the way, when my dad comes back, I'm outta here'?"  
  
"I'd respect his honesty."  
  
"But would you still be willing to do all the stuff you'd been doing?"  
  
"So you did it for yourself," Joe observed quietly.  
  
"Do you think I'm a huge jerk?" Richie asked fearfully his always- underlying fear of abandonment showing through.  
  
"I think you were a scared kid. You didn't know where your next meal was coming from, where you were going to sleep the next night, or how long it would be before you got arrested and sent to jail. You had to look out for yourself; nobody else was. Then Mac and Tessa decided to and you took them up on it. It might have started out as a warm, dry place to wait for Masters, but it became your home, Rich," Joe told him trying to ease his fear. "You said you didn't want to hurt them. Go back to that. How would it have hurt them?"  
  
"Because they being so nice, how is that a way to repay them? I really like them. They did stuff for me nobody but my dad had ever done before. They accepted me so fast, it wouldn't have been fair to make them try to live up to some guy they had never met before, and probably never would, just to impress some kid and make him like them."  
  
"Do you think that was the way they would have felt?"  
  
"Did they, like, make you take tones of psychology classes before you could become a Watcher or something?"  
  
Joe couldn't help but smile. Richie might have grown up a little bit, but he was still an annoying smart-ass half the time. "I'm just trying to help."  
  
"You know, how come everyone always wants to help me?" Richie asked suddenly. "Do I really come off as that pathetic?"  
  
"You come off as someone who's had some troubles. And you're a good kid;, people don't like it when good people get shot down."  
  
"Everyone roots for the underdog," he added.  
  
"Richie, you're not an underdog. You're just like everyone else."  
  
"Yeah, right. If I'm just like everyone else, how come I'm still 'kid', 'kiddo', 'sport' to every guy I meet?"  
  
"Richie, you still look like you're nineteen, physically you are a kid."  
  
"I guess I really wouldn't look that different at twenty anyway. But, you guys know I'm not and you just called me 'kid'," he pointed out.  
  
"To me you are. I've known you longer than you've known me. I was there the night you broke into Mac's store. and I hate to admit it, but I was the one who called the cops on you."  
  
"You did that? I was wondering who blew the whistle on me." Richie shook his head slightly. "Thanks a lot;, you almost got me sent back to juvie."  
  
"I knew Mac wouldn't press charges; I just thought you needed to be taught a lesson."  
  
"I'll send you a card."  
  
"Rich, did you tell Mac everything you just told me?" Joe asked.  
  
"We didn't really get that far. It was more of an over-view of the situation followed by some snide remarks and storming out."  
  
"Then maybe you should tell him."  
  
"I don't think he wants to talk to me right now."  
  
"You should. Tell him you didn't want to abandon them like you were afraid they would abandon you."  
  
Richie cocked his head to one side and smirked slightly. "Thank you, Dr. Dawson."  
  
"Anytime, tough guy."  
  
"Aw, man!" Richie rolled his eyes and groaned. "Not you, too. It's bad enough Mac still calls me that!"  
  
"Hate to break it to ya, Rich, but Mac's going to call you that for the next three thousand years at least. And you better get used to being the kid, because unless someone younger comes along, you're stuck."  
  
"Great."  
  
"Are you going to tell him?"  
  
"I guess I have to."  
  
"Look, Rich, I'm sorry about slipping up downstairs. I thought you were going to tell him last night," Joe apologized.  
  
"Don't worry about it, Joe."  
  
"Why didn't you? Tell him last night, that is."  
  
Richie looked at Joe with his own admittance of guilt written clearly in his eyes. "You didn't see his face," Richie told him. "He was so happy when he thought that I was kinda startin' to lean that way; then when I told him it was just a joke. I might as well have just stabbed him. He was crushed, Joe. It was bad enough I had slipped up like that, gotten his hopes up and everything, but to tell him why? I just couldn't do it. I didn't sleep at all last night; I was trying to come up with a way to tell him that wouldn't just be a slap in the face. I couldn't do it. I'm so deep into all this. Everything I tell him from here on out is just going to be another turn of the knife."  
  
"Very morbidly put, Rich."  
  
"I'm immortal; that's not all as figurative as it sounds."  
  
"I should hope it is," Joe chuckled. "The last thing I want to have to explain to Mac is how my trying to get you to talk to him led to you murdering him."  
  
"It's close enough."  
  
"Richie, stop being so dramatic. Sure things might be a little awkward between you two for a while, but you'll work it out. I know Mac and I know you. You'll have everything back to normal before you head back to school."  
  
. . . . . .  
  
Richie stayed on the roof for another couple hours after Joe left to find Duncan. He had no idea how to approach his best friend and tell him that the role he had coveted for so long wasn't up for grabs and never really had been. He went down to the loft and waited for Duncan to return. He made dinner and ate alone. At two thirty he gave up and went to bed. He wasn't sure why he was surprised Duncan was avoiding him. Maybe it was because the roles were usually reversed; Duncan would seek out Richie and force him to talk whatever problem they were having out. Now it was Richie who had unintentionally hurt Duncan's feelings and wanted so desperately to work it all out.  
  
Richie lay motionless in his bed listening to the sounds of the city on a summer morning when all the parties were breaking up and the bars were closing. Cars zoomed by every now and again some with their base blaring;, some relying on only the sound of their engine to let those still awake know they had passed. At around four o'clock Richie heard the elevator distantly hum Duncan's arrival. At least he assumed it was Duncan; from Richie's room he couldn't sense an immortal until they stepped onto the third step of the stairs that led up to it. He recognized the heavy boot fall of Duncan and listened to the older immortal get ready for bed. He heard the water turn on, then off ten minutes later. Then the light that faintly illuminated Richie's room from down stairs turned off and there was nothing but his own breathing and the darkness to keep him occupied. He wished Duncan had come upstairs to tell him he was home, or to check on him like he usually did. But those were fatherly acts that Richie had stripped him the privilege of. With a sinking heart Richie realized Duncan would probably never do those things again. Richie closed his eyes and tried to sleep.  
  
Duncan lay motionless in his bed. There was nothing but his own breathing and darkness to keep him occupied as he tried unsuccessfully to sleep. He wondered if Richie was awake or if the boy was even home. His car was still parked outside, but that didn't mean that Richie hadn't walked somewhere or retrieved his motorcycle from the storage room in the back of the dojo where Duncan decided to keep it for fear of thief and vandalization. As he began to gather up the nerve to go check he heard a faint cry come from the upstairs. Duncan sat up in bed and listened. From Richie's small room (that most people didn't even know existed up the spiral staircase in the corner) he heard the boy mumbling and calling out in his sleep.  
  
Duncan smiled faintly as the sounds grew louder. He recognized the pleas of Richie's I-want-attention-come-talk-to-me nightmares. Richie had first done this on the fifth night he stayed with Duncan and Tessa. It was the first day the three hadn't spent completely together and the boy had felt neglected and decided he couldn't wait for the next morning to get the attention he so desperately wanted. So he had feigned a nightmare that brought Tessa running and Duncan ambling after her with some tea to calm his nerves. After a couple months Duncan began to notice that this particular kind of nightmare (that boasted slightly overly dramatic pleas for help) only occurred when Richie had been left to his own devices for a day or two and hadn't been given the required amount of attention any teenage boy needed. Duncan and Tessa had decided that as long as Richie's pleas for attention didn't involve getting arrested they would let him do what he wanted.  
  
"Mac!" Richie called down the stairs. Duncan's smile grew; Richie was becoming impatient with him and wanted to make sure he was coming. Duncan slid out from between the sheets and slowly made his way up the stairs. Once he passed the third step Richie once again quieted to mumbling.  
  
"Rich?" Duncan asked softly playing along and sitting on the edge of the boy's bed. "Richie, wake up." He reached down and shook Richie 'awake'.  
  
"Mac?" Richie mumbled sleepily opening his eyes. If his law career didn't work out he could always audition for a soap opera and make a decent living for awhile.  
  
"You okay?"  
  
"Yeah, fine," Richie answered happily slipping into his 'I wanna talk but can't think of how to do it' routine.  
  
"You want to talk about it?"  
  
"Nah, I'm fine," he assured him in a purposely less than convincing voice.  
  
"Okay, see you in the morning," Duncan answered getting up to leave. He couldn't decide if he was mad Richie was manipulating him again or relieved Richie still felt comfortable enough to play the vulnerable kid to Duncan's experienced male role model.  
  
"I'm sorry," Richie said before Duncan got to the door.  
  
"Why? For waking me up?"  
  
"For earlier. Not telling you, lying to you, everything. I just didn't know what to do."  
  
"And just letting me know didn't occur to you?" Duncan asked.  
  
"It did," Richie assured him. "But it usually involved big blow out fights."  
  
"Like the one we just had?"  
  
"Sometimes worse. But it never involved 'Don't worry about it, Rich."  
  
"If you hadn't hidden it for so long, it would have. Richie, I don't understand why you thought I'd be so mad because you had a father."  
  
"I don't really either, Mac. I'm not exactly known for my rational thinking when comes to stuff like this."  
  
"Joe said you two got it pretty much figured out this afternoon."  
  
"We have our theories," Richie allowed.  
  
"Are you going to tell me? Or do you plan on waiting another three years?"  
  
Richie smirked slightly in the darkness and told Duncan what Joe had discovered.  
  
"You thought we would kick you out?" Duncan asked in disbelief when Richie had finished.  
  
"Well, we gotta be honest here. I didn't want to do anything wrong; you hated me. It took me a while to figure out it wasn't going to happen."  
  
"You thought I hated you?"  
  
"Please, Mac," Richie laughed slightly. "It wasn't like you weren't completely determined to remind me every chance you got that I didn't deserve what I was getting."  
  
"I guess I was pretty hard on you the first couple of weeks," Duncan admitted. "But you have to admit it scared you straight."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Richie, just because I get mad at you, or frustrated with you, or annoyed by you-"  
  
"I get the point, Mac."  
  
"It doesn't mean that you mean any less to me or that I love you any less."  
  
Duncan didn't have to see him to know Richie was blushing. "Thanks. I mean, me too. I uh, love you, that is," the boy stammered awkwardly.  
  
"And I'll admit, I was hoping that one day we might reach that next level. But now I know we're not. And I'm okay with that. Sometimes I don't know if I feel so fatherly towards you because I just do or because I feel you need one," Duncan added figure the conversation had become awkward enough and they didn't want to have to venture into such territory again. "But you have one. And he did a good job raising you. You were a good kid, Rich. And you're a good man. when you act like it." Richie laughed a little. "That gives credit to this Greg Matters guy."  
  
"Masters," Richie corrected.  
  
"Whatever," Duncan answered pulling Richie into a friendly headlock. "Although I have to wonder about a father whose kid feels he has to resort to fake nightmares to get attention."  
  
Richie pulled away. "You know about that?"  
  
"I have for a long time. It didn't take us long to figure out your little game. I told you before; you're dramatic."  
  
"All these years and you just played along with it? Why didn't you call me on it?"  
  
"Because Tessa thought it was cute," Duncan told him. "She had read so many articles about kids like you who went about getting their attention by getting into trouble and breaking the law that when you started pretending to have nightmares she thought it was adorable." Duncan paused. "But her favorite game to play with you was to see how long until you stopped faking sleep and actually fell asleep."  
  
"You know about that, too?" Richie laughed nervously realizing he was way too old to be playing the same childish games he played at seventeen. He used to feign sleep after he had gotten his attention just to see how long Duncan or Tessa would sit in his room to make sure he didn't have another nightmare.  
  
"It was pretty easy to tell. You don't know that you snore."  
  
"I don't!"  
  
"Yes, you do."  
  
"John hasn't said anything."  
  
"Does he snore?"  
  
"Well, yeah."  
  
"Then why would be complain about you?" Duncan teased as they forced themselves to slip back into their old relationship.  
  
Everything wasn't completely normal again. Richie seemed to have the need to allow Duncan to continue fathering him, although he had started to complain about it before he left for school the previous fall. But it worked out because Duncan felt the need to prove to Richie nothing was different and continued to try to father him while he was around. By the time Richie had to leave for school again they had spent so much time trying to be what the other needed that they had unwittingly slipped back into the way they had been when they had first met. Duncan was completely in charge and Richie begrudgingly did as Duncan wanted and tagged along for the fun.  
  
"Is that everything?" Duncan asked as Richie loaded the last bag of clothes into the back of his car.  
  
"That's it," Richie affirmed closing the door to the trunk space.  
  
"So are you coming back in December?"  
  
"I don't know," Richie admitted awkwardly having to once again bring up the subject they had avoided all summer. "Dad might want to do something."  
  
"Was Christmas a big deal to Greg?" Duncan asked trying to swallow the hurt as he reminded himself he had to share Richie now.  
  
"Actually, Dad's atheist, we didn't do Christmas. But we had other traditions, I don't know if he wants to start it up again or not."  
  
"That's why you were always so awkward around Christmas," Duncan realized. "You didn't have it growing up."  
  
"Nope. But birthdays, man, those were a huge deal. Week long events at our house."  
  
"Okay, well, the invitation's out. That's still your room whenever you want to come back and use it."  
  
"The Washington game?" Richie suggested hopefully. "You guys are still comin' like last year, right?"  
  
"Of course," Duncan assured him. "You still staying for the weekend like last year?"  
  
"Of course."  
  
"Okay. We'll see you then."  
  
"Okay. See you then," Richie agreed getting into the car and starting it.  
  
"Call me when you get there," Duncan ordered closing the door.  
  
Richie rolled down the window. "Okay," he answered dramatically.  
  
"I'll miss you, tough guy."  
  
"I'll write, I'll call, I'll send smoke signals and homing pigeons."  
  
"Hey, why don't you bring Heather up with you sometime?" Duncan suggested.  
  
"Are you going to lock me in a closet if I don't?" Richie asked with a smile.  
  
"I just might," Duncan reached through the window and ruffled Richie's hair. "I want to meet Greg, too. I want to see who I lost out to."  
  
"Mac, you didn't lose out to him," Richie assured him. "You're just different."  
  
"You better get going if you want to beat the traffic." Duncan stepped back onto the sidewalk. "See you in a couple months!"  
  
"Bye, Mac!" And with that Richie backed into the street and drove off to begin his sophomore year. 


	13. MemoryLane

Richie fit the key Greg had given him into the lock and let himself in. Greg wasn't home. He wondered into the kitchen and looked in the refrigerator. He grinned and removed the pitcher of Kool-Aid and poured himself a glass.  
  
"I wonder if he knows I'm twenty one now?" he laughed to himself even as he drank and began to search for the inevitable supply of gummy worms. He grabbed a handful and wondered into the living room. He hadn't been in the house by himself yet and had been curious about a few things. He opened the bottom of the large hutch in the corner and found what he had been dreading were there. the photo albums. The dreaded photo albums that he hated growing up and had missed terribly the last couple of years. All the defining moments of his childhood were in the books that were lined up in chronological order. He pulled out the first book and settled on the ground with his snack to skim through it.  
  
Eight years old at his first soccer game, after he scored his first goal, his first sports related injury, first day of school, posed for a little league picture with a broad grin and two missing front teeth. A picture of Richie triumphantly holding up a small fish that he had caught on their first camping trip together.  
  
The next book.  
  
His ninth birthday party. Every kid in the neighborhood had shown up. There were three cakes, ten gallons of ice cream, and a rented skating rink. His first day of fourth grade. A picture as he wobbled a few feet on his first two wheeler sans training wheels. Richie rubbed his elbow sympathetically. The flash had startled him and he had crashed a second later and got his first scare as a result. His first basketball game. More camping pictures.  
  
The next book.  
  
His tenth birthday party. Batman came. He was the coolest kid in school for that party. Richie on a skateboard. His first day of fifth grade. Richie in full catcher's gear after wining the championship. His entire basketball team; Richie was the shortest even then. The annual camping trip.  
  
The next book.  
  
His eleventh birthday party. Greg topped the last year by taking Richie and all his friends to the local amusement park. Richie playing one on one with his dad on the Washington U practice court. Coach Roberts had taken that picture if memory served. Fishing on the camping trip.  
  
The next book.  
  
His twelfth birthday party, a tour of the Seacouver Sharks (the local basketball team) arena. His first day of junior high. The school play. And the camping trip.  
  
The next book.  
  
His thirteenth birthday. Greg rented out the arcade and gave all Richie's friends unlimited play for the night. Those were the last pictures. On a whim Richie flipped a few pages and found clippings form the sports page of the local and school newspapers about the basketball games. Richie had a similar collection in a box under his bed at Duncan's loft.  
  
Sighing, Richie replaced the books and wondered back into the kitchen for more gummy worms. The phone started to ring and he wondered if he should answer it. Shrugging he reached for the phone.  
  
"Masters' residence."  
  
"Um, Richie?"  
  
"Dad?"  
  
"I was calling to check the messages to see if you had called. When did you get there?"  
  
"A little bit ago. Where are you?"  
  
"Will you believe I'm at work?"  
  
"Dad, on a Saturday?" Richie whined.  
  
Greg laughed. "You sound like you're twelve all over again. I'm sorry, Rich."  
  
"Yeah, well. what can you do about it?"  
  
"Get off the phone with you so I can get home sooner, that's what. But I have Thursday off so I can help move you into the dorms. You sure you don't want to just stay with me?"  
  
"Dad, we've been over this," Richie grinned rolling his eyes. "Campus rules, remember? Underclassmen in the dorms only. I have no choice. And if I could get out of the dorms I'd be in the team-house. I'm starting this year."  
  
"Richie, that's great!" Greg cheered. Richie's grin grew proudly. "I knew you would! Celebratory dinner tonight, you and me."  
  
"Okay," Richie happily agreed.  
  
"That and I owe you for your birthday. I guess we both get a beer tonight, eh?"  
  
"Yup."  
  
"My boy's first legal drink. well, I bet you've been out to celebrate with your friends in Washington, haven't you?"  
  
"Every night I could."  
  
"You're not a drunk are you?"  
  
"Dad!"  
  
"Sorry, let me get back to work so I can get home."  
  
"Bye."  
  
"Bye."  
  
. . . . . .  
  
"So how was your summer?" Greg asked putting salad on Richie's plate.  
  
"It was okay," Richie admitted.  
  
"That doesn't sound very convincing."  
  
"It was a little awkward?" Richie tried.  
  
"What happened?"  
  
"I told Mac about you. He didn't take it so well." He picked at his food.  
  
"What happened?"  
  
"I didn't exactly end up telling him the best way I could have; I kinda slipped so I had to tell him then."  
  
"How did you slip?"  
  
"Called him dad," he admitted quietly.  
  
Greg laughed. "Why'd you do that?"  
  
"It slipped."  
  
"When?"  
  
"When he locked me in a closet."  
  
"He did what?" Greg demanded.  
  
"It was a joke," Richie hurriedly assured him. "Then I just. slipped. So then I tried to play it off, but that just made the news worse when he got it. I screwed it all up. But we're okay now, kinda, sorta, maybe, not really. but we're pretending."  
  
"Do you want me to talk to him?" Greg offered.  
  
Richie blushed. "What? Dad, no, I'm fine. We always work it out. We'll be back to normal in no time."  
  
"Well, I want to meet him, anyway. Are they coming down this year?"  
  
Richie thought for a second. "I don't think so. They came down last year, but that was to give me the car."  
  
"MacLeod gave you that?"  
  
"Yeah. He just showed up with it."  
  
Something crossed Greg's face. "That's generous."  
  
"That's Mac," Richie corrected.  
  
"So this guy needs an excuse to come see you?" Greg asked.  
  
"What's that supposed to mean?"  
  
"I'm just saying; why would he need an excuse to visit? Isn't just wanting to see you enough?"  
  
"Well, Mac's real busy," Richie defended. "He's got the dojo and the barge and-"  
  
"And no time for you."  
  
"No, Dad, I didn't say that."  
  
"That's what it sounded like to me."  
  
"Then you heard wrong, Mac's not like that."  
  
"Richie, I was just commenting."  
  
"Well, stop. You don't know Mac; you don't know what you're talking about."  
  
"It just sounds to me like he wants something."  
  
"What?"  
  
"He can't see you without bringing some expensive gift?"  
  
"It was just. He wanted to. you're wrong."  
  
"If I'm wrong how come you don't have a counter? Admit it, Rich; he has something up his sleeve."  
  
"No he doesn't. I told you, you don't know him like I do. He's just a generous guy."  
  
"That you never see unless you go back to Washington."  
  
"I talk to him a lot."  
  
"That's not the same, Rich."  
  
"Can we change the subject?" Richie asked. "I don't like this."  
  
"Sorry," Greg apologized. "You ready for classes to start?"  
  
"Not really, but I don't have much of a choice." Richie speared an olive. "But I still have a week to goof off. when I'm not working."  
  
"I thought the Stadium was closed in the summers."  
  
Richie finally ate the olive. "It is," he answered.  
  
"Don't talk with your mouth full," Greg automatically corrected him.  
  
Richie grinned and swallowed. "Sorry. But since it's been closed for the past three months it needs some major cleaning and who better to do it then a bunch of guys who can't keep a little dorm room clean?"  
  
"They paying you good for that?"  
  
Richie shrugged. "I don't know if they're payin' me at all. All I know is coach wanted us down here by Monday to start practice and clean the place up. I think it might be one of his building up our work ethic things."  
  
"If the dorms don't open until Thursday, where is the team staying?"  
  
"Some people live kinda close, like me, and everyone else is at the team house, I guess," Richie answered finding his appetite once again and digging into the baby-back ribs in front of him.  
  
"Is there enough room for the entire team there?"  
  
Richie shrugged. "Didn't really think about it; wasn't my problem."  
  
"Well, if it gets too crowded some of the guys can come here."  
  
Richie grinned. "Yeah?"  
  
"Of course, you don't think I'd let a bunch of your filthy friends cram themselves into one house if there's room here, do you? It's just the two of us here; there's plenty of room."  
  
"Cool, I'll mention it at the team meeting Monday. Thanks."  
  
"Just so long as they understand Roberts' rules are my rules there shouldn't be a problem."  
  
. . . . . .  
  
Both of Mike and Vicki Carpenter's sons played basketball for the Missouri Cougars so while their boys were in school they bought a modest house just off campus for them and their friends to live in. When the youngest son graduated they decided to rent out the house to the starting line up for $100 a person a month with the exception of the captain, who got to stay rent-free. So every year since 1978 the five starters for the Cougars moved in for the year. The house was a constant place of activity as the entire team was constantly there. That Monday was no exception. When Richie showed up, twenty minutes before the meeting was to start, the living room was already filled with noisy boys.  
  
"Hey, Ryan!" someone announced as Richie rounded the corner.  
  
"Ryan!" the rest of the team chorused.  
  
"Hey," Richie greeted slightly off put by the loud welcoming as he grabbed a beer from the cooler.  
  
"What do you think you're doing?" Sinclair, this year's captain, snapped grabbing it from Richie's hand. "You're ass is my ass, you know."  
  
"Yeah, I do," Richie answered snatching the beer back with one hand and pulling his wallet from his pocket with the other. "No worries, man." He flipped open his wallet and showed Sinclair his driver's license. "Congrats, you're the first friend to card me."  
  
Sinclair took his wallet and looked at his license. "This is a fake, right? You're a sophomore."  
  
"A legal sophomore. Want my birth certificate?" Richie took his wallet back with a grin.  
  
"He's just an old man," John laughed clapping his hand on Richie's shoulder as he slid past him into the room.  
  
"Hey, John," Richie said.  
  
"Hernandez!" the team chorused.  
  
"I won't hold the old man comment against you, man," Richie assured him. "You must have just missed your nap." It was times like these Richie regretted not trying to get into college earlier; he guessed he was the oldest sophomore on campus.  
  
"We'll give everyone else a few more minutes to get here, then we'll get started!" Sinclair yelled over the noise.  
  
"If they're late are you going to make them run laps?" Johnson asked.  
  
"Only the freshmen." The returning team members laughed and the few freshmen that had already arrived looked relieved they weren't late.  
  
"John," Richie pulled him aside. "Where are you staying until the dorms open?"  
  
"Here," he shrugged. "Why?"  
  
"Cause Dad said some of the guys could come to our house if they wanted. Thought as my roommate you should get the first invite."  
  
John looked honored. "You mean me and Greg Masters in the same house?"  
  
Richie laughed. "Eating at the same table, shittin' in the same pot. is that a yes?"  
  
"Dude, the guy's, like, my hero!"  
  
"Why are you so excited? It's not like you've never met him."  
  
"I haven't," John insisted.  
  
"Yeah, you have. Remember the guy who took over practice when I broke my wrist and Coach took me to the hospital?"  
  
"That was your dad!?"  
  
"Yeah," Richie shrugged. It was weird that John was getting so excited about meeting his dad.  
  
"Hey!" John turned to the rest of the team. "You guys remember when Rich broke his wrist?"  
  
"Kinda hard to forget that CRUNCH!" someone yelled.  
  
"That was his dad that took over practice!" Nobody seemed to get it.  
  
"John, chill, okay?" Richie pleaded. "Don't listen to him!"  
  
"What's the big deal?" Connors asked. "My dad plays ball, too."  
  
"You're dad's not Greg Masters!" John shot back smugly. Richie shied away as the team began berating him with questions.  
  
"No wonder you play so well," someone mentioned slapping him on the back, Richie couldn't tell who it was.  
  
"Talk about learning from the master," someone else added.  
  
"Why didn't you say anything before?"  
  
"Do you think he could come to practice and give us some pointers?"  
  
"Does he still play?"  
  
"So, were you, like, born with a basketball in your hands?"  
  
Richie looked around for a way to escape before the enviable question was asked. But he couldn't get out in time.  
  
"Why do you have different names?" At the simple question the team quieted as no one had noticed that until someone mentioned it.  
  
Richie shifted under the gaze of all the eyes. "I'm adopted," he answered uncomfortably.  
  
"Okay, lets get this started!" Sinclair yelled from the fireplace.  
  
The team moved to position themselves where they were comfortable and Richie shot Sinclair an 'I owe you big' look as he settled on the arm of the couch.  
  
"I'm Mitchell Sinclair and I'm the captain," he introduced himself to the freshmen. "This year I am determined to beat the Sooners and hit the Final Four!" The team broke into a chorus of 'Bomb the Sooners'. "But that means we have to work. We had a great captain last year." Richie snorted into his beer and Sinclair shot him a look. "As I was saying. we had a great captain last year." Sinclair informed the team of the plan for the season, went over the Roberts' rules, ran down the starting line up (all of whom were staying in the team house except for Richie who had given his spot to Johnson), and then asked who was planning on staying in the house until the dorms opened. Almost every hand in the room went up.  
  
"Uh, I got room for a couple more guys at my house," Richie announced. "Any takers?" For the second time that night, all eyes were on him. Richie had to remind himself that it wasn't because it was his house; it was because it was Greg Masters' house. "How about you two?" he offered a pair of overwhelmed looking freshmen.  
  
"Us?" one of them asked in awe.  
  
Richie grinned. Ah, to be eighteen and naïve again. "Yeah. You wanna?"  
  
"Sure!"  
  
"Cool."  
  
There was barking and pawing at the backdoor. "Uh, oh," Connors laughed. "Coug realized there were people in here."  
  
"Let him in," Richie prompted with a wicked grin. "He'll flip with all these people here." The upperclassmen smiled approvingly and the freshmen looked worried.  
  
"Do it!" John added.  
  
"Let him in!"  
  
Sinclair moved to the backdoor and slowly opened it allowing the six month old golden lab into the congregation. He dog bounded in then skidded to a stop at the site of so many people in one room. He grinned happily letting his tongue hang out one side and wagged his tail so hard his entire body swayed with the movement.  
  
Richie looked at John, who looked at Connors, who looked at Johnson, who looked at Foster.  
  
"On three?" Foster asked. They nodded. "One. two. three!"  
  
"Here Coug, here boy, come here boy, come here!" they all began calling the dog at once snapping their fingers and patting their legs. The dog was at a loss for what to do. He looked from one person to the next trying to decide whom to go to. He started toward Foster, then changed direction toward Connors, then Johnson, then John, back to Foster, then squatted in the middle of the floor unable to control his bladder anymore.  
  
The room fell silent as the yellow puddle began to spread toward anyone unfortunate enough to be on the floor. In a split second the room went into chaos. Everyone on the floor jumped up spilling sodas and beers everywhere, people began shouting and running for towels and napkins and Coug. lost it all over again.  
  
"Get the dog out!" someone yelled. Richie, who was closest to the urinating dog, reached down and grabbed his collar and tried to lead him toward the back door again; Coug tried to greet everyone he passed. After a couple minutes everything calmed down again and the floor was cleaned. (Luckily the Carpenters had the foresight to install hardwood instead of carpeting for easy spillage clean up.)  
  
"Okay, that's it!" Sinclair announced. "Meeting over! Everyone be at the Stadium at nine thirty so we can start cleaning it up!"  
  
Richie and John located the freshmen and loaded everyone's essentials into Richie's car and left everything else in the garage or tool shed at the team house. Richie put the car in gear and headed towards home. If the rest of the year was to be anything like the first three days, this was to be a very interesting year. 


	14. Proposition

Richie groaned loudly and dropped his head with a resounding thud on his government book.  
  
"Would you like me to kill you now?" John offered unpacking his computer and setting it up on his desk.  
  
"Yes, please," Richie answered. "My sword is in my closet."  
  
"Just give me a minute to get this plugged in."  
  
Richie grinned inwardly; one of these days John was going to look in Richie's closet for the sword and find it. But for now he still thought it was a joke. "You want lunch?" Richie asked closing his book. "I'm starved."  
  
"Maybe because you're studying before classes even start," John suggested. "Why bother?"  
  
"Because this is what Professor Conroy likes. If you can answer questions first day, he's impressed. You keep it up; he'll bump your grade if you need it. If I need it, I gotta get it."  
  
"Man, I swear Coach got you on the team to boost the GPA average and that's all."  
  
"Hey I would'a done more if I could'a. I was going crazy last season not being able to play cause of my dumb wrist. But I practiced my butt off this summer and am better than ever. I just hope you guys can keep up with me."  
  
"I saw you at practice yesterday," John reminded him. "You were on fire. Didn't miss a single play all night. The Sooners had better watch their backs; we're beating them this year."  
  
"Damn straight," Richie agreed. "So about lunch."  
  
. . . . . .  
  
The first day of school never bothered Richie. To him it was just like any other day. But this year he was nervous. He was starting his major specific classes and had a lingering fear that he wasn't cut out to be a lawyer. Sure he had always had a fast tongue, had been able to easily talk his way in and out of trouble, and he had always been able to twist words to his advantage. all the makings of a great lawyer, but most lawyers didn't have criminal record, even if Richie's was only juvenile. He slumped down in his chair and tapped his pen on his desk. The girl next to him gave him an annoyed look and he smiled apologetically and stopped.  
  
"What is the purpose of dialectical materialism?" Professor Conroy asked walking into the classroom and laying his brief case on the desk. The class stared blankly at him and Richie slowly raised his hand. "Yes, Mr."  
  
"Ryan, Richie Ryan."  
  
"Yes, Richard, the purpose of dialectical materialism?"  
  
"To improve the human condition."  
  
"Very good." To Richie's pleasure Professor Conroy looked slightly impressed. "How?"  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"What does dialectical materialism strive to create?"  
  
"Um," Richie thought for a second. "Homosoveticus?"  
  
The professor smiled slightly. "Which is?"  
  
"The ideal man," Richie answered happily as the information flooded into his memory. "Rational, enlighten and predicable."  
  
"Very good, Richard, I'm impressed. I'm also impressed that the rest of the class has such good memories, why isn't anyone writing this down?" The class scrambled for pens and notebooks. "Who founded the theory?" he continued. "Anyone?" Richie looked around himself and slowly his hand went back up. Professor Conroy smiled. "Richard?"  
  
"Carl Marx."  
  
"Right again. And what did he base his theory on?"  
  
Richie looked at him. "Oh, me? Darwin's theory of survival of the fittest."  
  
"Very good. The rest of you would do well to follow Richard's example." Richie tried not to blush and he concentrated hard on his notes. Even though he was answering all the questions right he wanted to keep up with the information being covered. "We are far from crating Homosoveticus, man, and I use the term generally, is not predictable. For instance out of the fifty of you; eleven had been arrested at least once, eight of you more than twice, two over three times, and one of you has been arrested eight times and spent a year in a juvenile detention center. Unpredictably, you all chose law as your profession." Richie couldn't help but feel the professor was looking directly at him as he ran down the statistics of the class. Richie kept his head bent over his notes for the rest of class as he scribbled down every word said. "We'll end the lecture there today," the professor decided. "Everyone get a syllabus on your way out, pay special attention to the offer at the end."  
  
Richie got up and grabbed a syllabus on his way out the door. He flipped to the last page and read the offer. His head shot up and he scanned the hall spotting Professor Conroy. Richie ran after him. "Professor Conroy! Wait up!"  
  
"Can I help you?" the professor asked turning around.  
  
"You're offer," Richie panted holding up the papers in his hand. "I want it."  
  
"You want it? You don't need it. You know the material."  
  
"But can I pass the tests? Look if you want someone to take notes to put on file in the library, I'm your man. I'm obsessive about it. My notes are practically lecture transcripts."  
  
"I'll tell you what. I have a class now. I want you to meet me in my office at eleven thirty, can you do that?"  
  
Richie nodded. "Yeah, not a problem."  
  
At eleven thirty Richie entered Professor Conroy's outer office. The secretary looked at him expectantly. "Name?" she finally demanded.  
  
"Richie Ryan."  
  
"Not on the list," she shook her head.  
  
"How about Richard Ryan?"  
  
She looked at her list. "Go on in."  
  
"Thanks," he mumbled heading for the office. He knocked lightly on the door as he opened it. "Professor Conroy?"  
  
"Richard, come in, have a seat. I was just going over your file."  
  
"Oh?"  
  
"You have a four point o, why do you want to be my 'court reporter' as it were?"  
  
"Because I need all the points I can get. If I do the notes the five points per test can really help me. I have the four point o now and I'll bust my ass to do anything to keep it."  
  
"Then you might like a little proposition I have for you," the professor told him.  
  
"Proposition?"  
  
"I make it a habit to know all my students' pasts, especially the trouble makers." Richie shifted in his seat. "You aren't my first convict to teach. And I am proud to say there are all fine lawyers. But I offered them all what I'm about to offer you."  
  
"Okay."  
  
"I will guarantee you an A for the year."  
  
"What do I have to do?" Richie asked perking up.  
  
"All you have to do is get at least a B on every test and be at every class."  
  
Richie nodded. "And?"  
  
"Guest lecture my juvenile law classes."  
  
"As in researching the topic TA- type lectures or I was there and it sucked- type lectures?"  
  
"Personal experience."  
  
"I don't know; that's all kinda personal. Truth be known I'm not thrilled you know about it."  
  
"I'm not going to dock you for not doing it, but I'll make it worth your while if you do. In the mean time, you can take the notes."  
  
"Thanks." Richie stood to leave. "Hey, if I do, do the lecture thing. Is it a B before or after the five points?"  
  
"Before. I'm not that generous."  
  
"Right," Richie nodded. "Thanks." He left.  
  
. . . . . .  
  
"Are you going to do it?" Greg asked that Saturday afternoon when Richie came over to tell him of the offer.  
  
"I don't know," he shrugged. "What do you think?"  
  
"I think it's up to you if you want everyone knowing what happened."  
  
"That doesn't help, Dad."  
  
"You're a grown up you can make your own decisions."  
  
"No I can't!" he whined. "I don't know what to do!"  
  
"Then wait until you know."  
  
Richie slowly shook his head and grinned. "You and Mac, I swear."  
  
"Speaking of MacLeod, how's he doing? You have talked to him, haven't you?" Greg asked pleasantly.  
  
"Not yet," he shrugged the thought not bothering him until his dad pointed it out.  
  
"Really?"  
  
"Don't start, Dad, please?"  
  
"I'm just making an observation."  
  
"A wrong one," Richie reminded him. "I was going to call him tonight to ask him what he thinks about Conroy's offer anyway."  
  
"You were going to call him?"  
  
"Dad!"  
  
"I don't trust him, Rich."  
  
"You don't know him."  
  
"I bet even if I did know him, I wouldn't trust him."  
  
"Because you're overprotective. You two being so much alike is going to make you hate each other."  
  
"You think we're alike?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"I want to meet him."  
  
"He wants to meet you."  
  
"Why don't you invite him down?"  
  
Richie raised his eyebrows. "Excuse me?"  
  
"You heard me, invite him down."  
  
"Are you serious?"  
  
"Why wouldn't I be?"  
  
. . . . . .  
  
"Hello?"  
  
"Hey."  
  
"Richie?" Duncan asked.  
  
"Who else would I be?" Richie replied in a grinning voice.  
  
"How are you? I've been debating if I should call you or not."  
  
"I'm fine. Why wouldn't you call?"  
  
"I wasn't sure if I should. I didn't want to interrupt you and Greg."  
  
Richie rolled his eyes; for a four-hundred-year-old Duncan was extremely immature sometimes. "What are you doing not this weekend but the next?" he asked deciding not to bring it up.  
  
"Are you okay?" Duncan asked worriedly, Richie wasn't exactly known for admitting when he had a problem and needed help.  
  
"Mac, I'm fine," he insisted. "Dad just wants to meet you."  
  
"Oh?"  
  
"He wants you to come down. I told him I'd ask."  
  
"Is that why you called?"  
  
"I was going to call anyway, just thought I'd get that out of the way."  
  
"Why were you going to call?" Duncan asked changing the subject.  
  
"I want your opinion on something."  
  
"Sure, what is it?"  
  
Richie took a deep breath and told Duncan his dilemma. "Do you think I should do it?"  
  
"I think that it's nice that your record is giving you positive attention for a change."  
  
"No jokes, Mac, what do you think?"  
  
"I think you should wait and see how well you do on his tests. If you can get the A on your own then don't. but if you need the boost do it."  
  
"How very logical of you," Richie laughed.  
  
"Are you still on probation?"  
  
"You mean, is Coach still on my back? Yeah."  
  
"Then take your A's anyway you can get them. That way if you have trouble in another class it won't be such a problem."  
  
Richie nodded slightly although Duncan couldn't see him. "Good point. Thanks, Mac."  
  
"Anytime."  
  
"Can you come down?" Richie asked suddenly.  
  
"Do you want me to?"  
  
"Yes," Richie answered without pause.  
  
"Then tell Greg I'll be there."  
  
"There's a home game Friday night. maybe you could come?"  
  
"Of course."  
  
"Mac?"  
  
"Yeah, Rich?"  
  
There was a pause. "Nothin'. See you after the game?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Cool. See ya."  
  
"Bye, Rich." 


	15. Dad vs Dad

"Geeze, Ryan what's with the smile?" Connors asked as he and Richie began to suit up for the game.  
  
"We'd better win, man," Richie answered fishing for his shorts among the pile of clothes in his locker. "I got people here."  
  
"Coach will kill you if he sees all that crap in there," Connors laughed. "Wanna impress the girlfriend?"  
  
"Heather's not here." Richie sat down to tie his high tops. "But my dad is, and so's Mac, and Amanda, and Joe, and Adam." he listed off.  
  
"Wow, got your own little cheering section, huh?"  
  
"Yeah. So don't let me down, dunk it as many times as you can, dude."  
  
Connors laughed. "Will do. And you stay the hell outta the key when you shoot, if you can make it don't waste it."  
  
"Anyone ever tell you ya talk like a fortune cookie?"  
  
Connors laughed again. "IBWAR."  
  
Richie cocked his head to one side. "Huh?"  
  
"I bed with a rope?"  
  
"I repeat, huh?"  
  
"We'll have to out for Chinese sometime and I'll explain it."  
  
Both guys finished changing just as Coach Roberts entered the locker room from his office. "Alright men, listen up! I know it's early in the season, but we have to go into each game with the Final Four on our minds. Every game, every play, every point counts. Now I want you to remember what we've be practicing; keep the ball moving, keep the ball on our side of the court, make every shot. If you're not one hundred percent sure you can make it, make sure the rebound man is there and ready. Johnson, that's you. Sinclair, Foster, you keep their defense busy. Ryan, stay out of the key and go for the three pointers. Connors charge, remember if they don't get out of your way it's their fault, not yours. Now let's get out there, play our best and kick some ass!"  
  
. . . . . .  
  
In the stands Adam walked down the stairs to their seats with some beers and handed one to Joe who was happily chatting with Amanda and one to Duncan who was sitting nervously awaiting the last person of their party.  
  
"Calm down, MacLeod," Adam sighed taking a seat next to him. "It's just another guy."  
  
"Doesn't it bother anyone that this Masters guy doesn't show up until Richie was already immortal? That he didn't try to get a hold of him sooner?"  
  
"He did, Duncan. But he saw him with you," Amanda pointed out.  
  
"And still didn't say anything to him? If he really wanted Richie he would have said something."  
  
"He was worried he wouldn't have anyone to teach him when he died," Joe pointed out. He didn't fully trust Greg Masters, either, but Richie only needed two fathers fighting each other at once.  
  
"And he hadn't yet. If Richie was still mortal and I saw him with Greg, I'd still want to be the one to teach him. And Greg's immortal. If he can fake a doctoral degree and create a phony specialist to take Richie to when he hurt his arm, why couldn't he look up Richie's school records to find him?"  
  
"You've got a point," Adam consented still wondering why he had agreed to this little road trip.  
  
"Do you always think of the right thing to do at the right moment, Duncan?" Amanda asked. Personally she was thrilled that Richie had found his father again.  
  
"If I really want something, I do. If I had to move because of a job and couldn't take Richie with me, I'd quit."  
  
"MacLeod, I seem to remember you jetting off to Paris and leaving your poor little boy all by himself back in the states a couple years ago," Adam pointed out.  
  
"Richie wasn't thirteen; he was nineteen and already living on his own. It's different. Richie was completely dependent and attached to Masters and the guy just left him without so much as a new address to get a hold of him with."  
  
"Maybe he didn't have one," Amanda commented.  
  
"Maybe we should all just accept that some of us won't get along with Masters, but we have to deal for Richie's sake," Joe put in. "This is really important to him. We should at least try to make." he stopped short when a familiar look crossed all three immortal's faces. "Try to make it work," he finished quickly allowing his gaze to follow the immortals' to the man approaching them. He looked to be in his early thirties with sandy blonde hair. He walked purposefully down the steps to where Joe and the other immortals waited for him.  
  
He stopped next to the only empty seat on the row, the one next to Duncan. "Which one of you is MacLeod?" he asked with a smile.  
  
'Came by and saw me with Richie, huh?' Duncan thought to himself before forcing a smile. "That'd be me. You must be Greg," he said offering his hand.  
  
"So you're the man I need to thank for saving my son from the streets," Greg answered shaking Duncan's hand.  
  
"I'm sure you could have, had you been there," Duncan answered politely.  
  
"I'm glad you were. I'm sorry about the mix up and leaving you stuck with him the past three years."  
  
"I wasn't stuck with him," Duncan assured him. "He's one of the family."  
  
"Ahem," Amanda cleared her throat.  
  
"Oh, Greg this is Amanda, Adam, and Joe. Friends of ours."  
  
"I've heard about all of you," Greg said with a warm smile. "Richie's hard to get to shut up sometimes."  
  
"We know the feeling," Joe said in the same feigned politeness Duncan was using.  
  
Greg sat down and they lapsed into an uncomfortable silence. "So," he started chewing on his bottom lip and nodding slightly. Duncan cringed; Richie did that. "Richie says you're pretty old."  
  
"Yes, but only comparatively. What about you?"  
  
"Still working off the same birth certificate," Greg admitted. "But you, you must have quite a head on your shoulders after all these years."  
  
"You could say that."  
  
"Richie speaks very highly of you."  
  
"He's a good friend," Duncan consented trying his best not to grill Greg about his intentions with Richie. "He hasn't gotten a chance to tell me much about you."  
  
Greg made a face. "He told me about that. I have no problem admitting I'm not very happy that he kept the truth from you for so long. I taught him better than that. He usually isn't that secretive."  
  
"Everyone has their moments. But once you get him talking, he really doesn't shut up."  
  
They once again lapsed into silence and Duncan half-heartedly listened in on Amanda, Adam, and Joe's conversation. Luckily the game started after only a few awkward minutes and the immortals and Watcher happily allowed themselves to be distracted for the next two and a half hours.  
  
After the game they all trooped out to wait for Richie by the locker room back exit. After about twenty minutes players started to come out, all neatly dressed in oxford shirts and ties. As they waited Richie nervously straighten up his locker stuffing his dirty practice clothes into a duffel.  
  
"Ryan, what are you still doing here?" Coach Roberts asked.  
  
With a start Richie realized he was the only one left in the locker room. "Uh, cleaning all the junk out of my locker," he explained.  
  
"Avoiding your father?"  
  
"You could say that," Richie admitted.  
  
"Ryan, it was a good game, we won. So you messed up on a few plays, everyone has their off days."  
  
"Yeah," Richie agreed, he had been so worried about how everyone was getting along that he had forgotten the inevitable 'How to improve your game' speech he was going to get from his dad. Hopefully Greg would wait until after Duncan and everyone went back to Washington.  
  
"Well, your locker seems pretty clean from here," Roberts commented stepping closer. "You can't avoid him forever," he added putting his hand on Richie's shoulder and giving it a squeeze. "He's not going to be mad; all you did was miss a few shots."  
  
Richie looked down. "It's not that I'm avoiding," he admitted. He had to get it all out before he went to face everybody.  
  
"What's wrong, son?" Roberts asked sitting on the bench that ran along the lockers.  
  
Richie sat and thought for a second. "It's my dad and Mac. they're both out there and I'm not sure how they're getting along."  
  
"Why wouldn't they?"  
  
"Long story."  
  
"Richie," Roberts started. Richie blinked. Roberts hadn't called him by his first name since he was ten and announced that he was going to play for him when he went to college. "Everything will work out the way it's supposed to. There's a plan for everyone and everything. Nothing ever turns out for the worst, it's always the best. Now I want you to go out there and face this like a man, not some scared kid."  
  
"Yes, sir," Richie grinned. Somehow he felt better. He had progressed from being a scared kid to a scared man and he was going to face this the only way he knew how, put on a brave face and jump in feet first. "See ya at practice, Coach." He stood up and shouldered his bag.  
  
"Good luck, kid."  
  
Richie headed for the door rolling his eyes. Coach was just like everyone else; telling him to be a man and calling him kid all in the same breath. Just before he reached the door a powerful buzz washed over him. Taking a deep breath he reached for the handle and opened the door.  
  
"Hey," he greeted walking across the parking lot to the bench everyone had crowded around.  
  
"Hey, tough guy!" Duncan responded cheerily pulling Richie in for a strong hug.  
  
"Nice weather, huh?" Riche choked out over his shoulder.  
  
Duncan just laughed and ruffled his hair. "Good game."  
  
"Thanks," Richie answered nodding a greeting to Adam as he shook Joe's hand.  
  
"You're quite a sight to see on that court in person," Joe added. Richie grinned self-consciously.  
  
"You were amazing," Amanda added giving Richie a hug and peck on the cheek.  
  
"You missed a couple shots," Greg pointed out. "Easy ones, too."  
  
"I know, Dad," Richie quickly said. "I know."  
  
"Don't worry about it, Rich," Duncan comforted trying his best not to shoot Greg a look. "You did great. How about dinner?"  
  
"I was hoping you would say that," Richie grinned. "Cause I got it all set up. Hope you guys are up for Italian."  
  
"And by Italian you mean pizza, right?" Adam asked fully aware of what college kids thrived on.  
  
"No, I mean Italian. There's this great place over on 15th, you know the one I'm talking about, Dad? Uh, geeze can't think of the name."  
  
"Marichini's?" Greg supplied.  
  
"Yeah, that's the place," Richie grinned. "It's great, you'll love it."  
  
"You think everything eatable is great," Duncan pointed out. "But I trust you."  
  
"Gee, thanks, Mac."  
  
"Then it's all settled," Greg said. "Richie, why don't you ride with me and they can follow us."  
  
"Actually wouldn't it be easier if Richie rode with us?" Joe asked not happy about Greg's comment about the game. "That way if we get separated we can still get there."  
  
"Good point," Greg consented. "But it would be crowed with all five of you in one car, so why don't I trade Richie for one or two of you so everyone will have some room."  
  
"I'll go with you," Adam volunteered deciding Duncan and Joe needed some time to talk to Richie without the threat of Greg overhearing.  
  
"Me, too," Amanda added after receiving a pointed glare from Adam.  
  
"Okay, we'll see you guys there." Greg led Amanda and Adam to his Mercedes, which was parked not far from Duncan's thunderbird.  
  
"So that's your dad, huh?" Duncan asked as Richie slid into the backseat.  
  
"That's him," Richie nodded.  
  
"He seems a little. corrective," Joe said.  
  
"How so?"  
  
"So you missed a couple shots, every single guy on that court missed a couple shots."  
  
"He does it to keep me from getting a big head. Kinda like Mac never giving me a complement about my swordsmanship that isn't followed by at least three hundred 'but you should of's," Richie brushed it off. "He's really a nice guy. Go left."  
  
"He could have waited until it was just you and him," Joe pointed out.  
  
"Don't worry about it," Richie assured him. "Left at the light. That's the way he's always done it. He usually only finds one thing and he mentions it while everyone else is talking about how good I was. That way I get the point."  
  
"Richie, I don't think he has to worry about you getting a big head. You keep that in check by yourself," Duncan said.  
  
"When I was a kid I didn't. I was real cocky."  
  
"You were a kid and found your real talent. Kids get cocky."  
  
"And Dad's real big on keeping a good attitude," Richie said. "Don't worry about it, it's no big."  
  
"You seemed a little embarrassed when he mentioned it," Joe said softly.  
  
"Well, I was hoping he wouldn't do it in front of you guys. but I'm over it. Right."  
  
Duncan waited for the light to turn. "Richie, is he the same guy you grew up with?"  
  
"He hasn't tied me to my bed, but other than that."  
  
"He did what?" Duncan demanded sharply.  
  
Richie laughed a little. "No, he had reason to."  
  
"Why would anyone tie a kid to a bed?" Joe demanded equally as appalled as Duncan.  
  
Richie laughed again. "I was ten and pushing for a later bed time. Go straight. So after he sent me to bed I kept coming up with excuses to get up; 'I can't sleep,' 'I'm thirsty,' 'I don't feel good'," he laughed. "'I had a nightmare.'" Duncan got the joke and chuckled slightly. "So finally he'd had it and told me if I got out of bed one more time he would tie me down. I called his bluff. he wasn't bluffing. So the next thing I know there's a dog leash around my wrists and the headboard."  
  
Despite his dislike for Greg, Joe chuckled. "Bet you never tried to get out of bed after that."  
  
"Nope."  
  
"Why did he have a dog leash?" Duncan asked not willing to admit that he found the punishment rather creative and effective. The few times Duncan had gotten angry and sent Richie to bed, he had stayed despite what Duncan thought would happen.  
  
"We had a dog," Richie answered. "But she was real old, she died when I was twelve and we never got a new one. Oh, its right up there on the left, see the sign?" Richie pointed out the windshield.  
  
Duncan pulled into the parking lot and they piled out of the car. "What other strange punishments did he come up with?"  
  
"Um," Richie thought for a second. "When I was nine, he threatened to get me a dog collar and put me on a leash if I didn't stop wondering off when we went shopping," he offered.  
  
"Didn't they have those kid leashes they put on your wrists when you were little?" Joe asked.  
  
"Yeah, but my friends made more fun of the idea of me in a dog collar. It never happened though, just the threat. that he made in front of all my friends. humiliated me into submission."  
  
Duncan noted that Richie had a tendency to stay close when they went out unless specifically told he could go off on his own. "Anything else?"  
  
"All sorts of weird stuff. He probably has all sorts of stuff in mind that I never heard about," Richie shrugged opening the door for Joe and Duncan.  
  
"Really?" Duncan asked.  
  
"I shouldn't have said that, huh?"  
  
"No, but I was going to ask anyway."  
  
The three met the rest of their party and followed the hostess to their table. They all sat, Richie in-between Duncan and Greg and across from Joe who was between Adam and Amanda. They were looking over the menus when the waitress approached them.  
  
"Hi, my name's Heather," she said with a twinkle in her eye. "What can I get you all to drink?" 


	16. Blush!

"Is that Heather?" Amanda asked excitedly, but quietly, when the waitress left to get their drinks.  
  
Richie ginned. "That's her."  
  
"She's so cute!"  
  
"I told you, she's not pretty, just unbelievably cute."  
  
"So that's why you wanted to come here," Duncan realized.  
  
"Yeah, she had to work and I knew you guys wanted to meet her and most people go to the Stadium after games. So I figured we could get in no problem. But I told her to save us a table in her section just the same."  
  
"You are a sneaky one," Joe laughed.  
  
"That's my boy," Greg said putting his arm around Richie. "Always one step ahead of the game."  
  
"He just likes to feel in charge," Duncan corrected.  
  
"So the jig is up, huh?" Heather asked coming back with a tray of drinks.  
  
"Yeah," Richie answered. "Um, this is Mac," he started gesturing to his left. "And my dad, Greg, that's Adam. And I have a feeling you'll be hearing a lot from Joe and Amanda.especially Amanda."  
  
"Sweetie, I have so many questions for you," Amanda said. "Like why you fell for this idiot here."  
  
"I have no idea," Heather answered with a grin that made Richie blush. "I think it was his smooth opening line of 'Huh'."  
  
"A favorite of his," Joe consented.  
  
"Are you ready to order, or should I come back?"  
  
"I think we're ready," Duncan said glancing around the table. Everyone nodded.  
  
One by one they went around the table telling Heather what they wanted starting with Duncan and ending with Richie.  
  
"The usual, right?" she asked him.  
  
"Yup," he nodded.  
  
"It'll be just a few minutes. I'll be right back with some salads and bread."  
  
An hour later everyone was done eating and Heather pulled up a chair to the end of the table to sit for a minute.  
  
"So was it good?" she asked. Everyone told her it was. "Because I made it all myself," she joked.  
  
"Do any of you have plans after this?" Greg asked. Nobody did. "What time do you get off of work, Heather?"  
  
"When I'm done with you guys," she answered.  
  
"Good, then nobody order desert," he said. "I'll stop by Pie Time and get that cake Richie likes so much and we can all meet at our house to talk."  
  
"Hey, yeah. Good idea! You guys up for it?" Richie asked.  
  
"Sure thing," Duncan answered. "But isn't it a little late for a bakery to be open?"  
  
"Not this one," Richie answered with a grin. "Open from eight to midnight. You know, to cover all the sugar craving hours. Every campus should have one."  
  
After a couple more minutes of planning they decided to go and leave Heather to her ending tasks.  
  
"What about the bill?" Duncan asked pulling out his wallet.  
  
"I've got it," Greg insisted. "It'd be my pleasure to take my son and his friends to dinner."  
  
"No, I insist. Bring it to me, Heather."  
  
"Actually, it's already paid for," she answered as she began to gather the plates.  
  
Duncan and Greg looked at Richie. "What?" he asked innocently. "I knew you two would start and it was going to be my treat in the first place, so I took care of it ahead of time."  
  
"You know," Greg warned. "I wasn't going to do this, but I have some photo al-"  
  
"No!" Richie interrupted. "Please, don't!"  
  
"Were you going to say photo albums?" Amanda asked.  
  
"I have a couple."  
  
"Daa-aad!"  
  
"I was just going to settle for some stories," Amanda laughed.  
  
"I did have some questions," Duncan admitted. "Like the whole leash idea."  
  
"Maa-aac!"  
  
"This could be fun," Joe admitted.  
  
"Indeed," Adam nodded. He had mostly been observing the evening, but had to jump at the chance to see the kid squirm.  
  
"Aw, man." Richie could see he was beaten.  
  
A few minutes later they all congregated in the parking lot. "So how should we do this?" Duncan asked looking around at the seven people and three cars.  
  
"Dad, go to the bakery. Joe, Amanda, go with Heather so you can interrogate her, I'll go with Mac and Adam," Richie instructed. "How does that sound?"  
  
"You really had this all planned out, didn't you?" Duncan chuckled.  
  
"Well, I wasn't planning on cake, but I'm not going to say no to that."  
  
After giving Heather directions they all piled into their respective cars and pulled out of the parking lot. They all met up again at Greg's house. Richie let them in and immediately got sucked into giving the tour until his dad arrived.  
  
"And this is my room," he opened the door to the freshly painted room upstairs.  
  
"Looks nice," Amanda commented sitting on the bed.  
  
"Dad did it this summer so I'd have a place other than the dorms on holidays."  
  
"These all your cds?" Joe asked skimming the collection. "I don't remember these."  
  
"Um, Dad's on a making up for the birthdays kick right now."  
  
"He did miss a lot," Duncan consented.  
  
"Just seven. And if I remember correctly that was your excuse every time I didn't want to accept some little thing you came home with," Richie pointed out. "It's a birthday present, Rich," he imitated.  
  
"Point taken," Duncan dropped the subject.  
  
"So where are these photos?" Heather asked starting to pull Richie down the stairs. "I bet you were a cute kid."  
  
"You guys don't want to see those," Richie blushed. He had already looked through the books and knew there were all sorts of embarrassing things in them.  
  
"Sure we do," Joe laughed sitting on the couch in the living room.  
  
"No, you don't."  
  
. . . . . .  
  
"That was the first time we had to call the fire department," Greg explained. "Nobody had a latter tall enough to get to him."  
  
"The first time?" Heather asked pulling Richie back down by his shirt as he tried to run away for yet another piece of cake.  
  
"The first sport Richie ever got into was soccer," Greg started.  
  
"I didn't know you played soccer," Joe commented.  
  
"Not anymore," Richie mumbled.  
  
"He had this little Nerf soccer ball he loved to play with in the front yard."  
  
"Daa-aad!" Richie knew this story; it wouldn't be so bad if it wasn't accompanied by a newspaper clipping. Richie doubted his dad would save him the embarrassment, but he still had to try. He snatched the navy blue photo album from the stack on the coffee table.  
  
"He was playing with a couple of his friends and one of them kicked it across the street into the sewer."  
  
"Oh, no," Duncan groaned. He knew Richie well enough to know what came next without being told.  
  
"The next thing I know, Mark and Ben came running in the house yelling for help." He stood up and retrieved the photo album Richie had confiscated and was desperately clutching. "They dragged me outside and this is what I saw." He flipped a couple pages and handed the book to Heather so she could see the faded newspaper clipping of a pair of legs sticking up in the air out of the sewer.  
  
"Oh!" she giggled. "Eight-year-old Richard Ryan from Evergreen Terrace got stuck in a rain water drain while trying to retrieve his soccer ball from the sewer," she read the short article that had been printed up. "After an hour and a half the Seacouver Fire Department was able to get him out with only a few minor scratches."  
  
Amanda took the book from her to get a better view of the pictures. "After getting looked over by the paramedics Richard was sent straight to bed for rest, but refused to go."  
  
Duncan took the book. "Until his foster father, Greg Masters, promised to get him a new soccer ball." He finished the story. "I remember reading this when it happened," he chuckled. "That was you?"  
  
"I think it's a little late to claim it wasn't," Richie returned taking the book back.  
  
"Smart move, kid," Adam said.  
  
"Yeah, yeah," he grumbled. "Two weeks before I was small enough to fit."  
  
"He had a little pot-belly and couldn't fit anymore," Greg added. "But I have to say, Richie had a thing for firemen. I swear the kid was destined to be fire chief some day."  
  
"I thought you wanted to be a mail man?" Duncan asked.  
  
"Bite me."  
  
"He would have made a great fireman," Greg continued. "He was the one who got to put on all the gear when his fourth grade class went to the fire station. All the fire men knew him from his summer escapades."  
  
"Judging by the color of Richie's cheeks, there's more to the story than he got to put on the uniform," Amanda observed.  
  
"I don't quite know the whole story. Richie?"  
  
"You have got to be kidding me," Richie groaned.  
  
"I could always tell the babysitter story," Greg volunteered.  
  
"So, me, Mark, and Ben," Richie quickly started. "We were at the fire station and decided to go off and explore on our own."  
  
"So you've being doing stupid things since you were a kid," Adam interrupted.  
  
"Yup, it was stupid. But I was just a kid, so you know." Richie tried to end the story.  
  
"That's it, you wondered off?" Duncan asked knowingly.  
  
"And Mark dared me to climb up on the truck," Richie started again. "Then Ben double dared me. and you gotta remember when you're a kid and you get double dared to do something, you gotta do it. So I did."  
  
"And you got caught," Duncan finished.  
  
"Yup, that's it!"  
  
"Not quite, Rich," Greg corrected. "What happened after you got on the truck?"  
  
"The fire alarm went off," he mumbled.  
  
"And?"  
  
"And I froze. Ben and Mark abandoned me so they wouldn't get in trouble."  
  
"Oh!" Amanda stifled a giggle. Heather didn't even try; she just laughed out loud.  
  
"And?" Greg continued to prod.  
  
"And the next thing I know the truck started to pull out of the station, but luckily somebody's mom saw me and grabbed me off the back before they took off with me down the street," he finished in a rushed mumble.  
  
"Rich," Duncan said fondly. "You're an idiot."  
  
"So what else is new?"  
  
"What's the babysitter story?" Joe asked.  
  
"Nothing you're ever going to hear about," Richie insisted giving Greg a pointed look.  
  
"Fine, I can always tell them about the time you tried to impress Stevie Zepata by jumping off the tool shed roof."  
  
"I think it's too late to tell you not to."  
  
"What did he do?" Heather asked.  
  
"Let's just say I let him watch Superman a few to many times. He made a cape out of a bed sheet and everything."  
  
"It was the table cloth," Richie corrected. "Cause it was red."  
  
"Did you impress her?" Heather asked.  
  
"Yeah, she was plenty impressed, until she saw all the blood."  
  
"Sounds familiar," Duncan commented. "Except, it was Jordan Skipworth and it wasn't a tool shed, it was motocross."  
  
"That was Mandy Lewis," Joe corrected. "Jordan was the jetski."  
  
"Jordan was lacrosse, Jennifer was the jetski," Amanda put in.  
  
"Jennifer was lacrosse, Mandy was the jetski, and Jordan was motocross," Richie ended the debate.  
  
"What did you do to impress Heather?" Adam asked.  
  
"Nothing that spectacular," Heather answered. "He wrote a story."  
  
"That is so cute, you wrote her a story?" Amanda cooed.  
  
"I wrote my English professor a story; she was nosey and read it."  
  
"What did he write about?" Amanda joked. "Flowers and poetry?"  
  
"Not quite," Heather laughed. "Swords and burglars."  
  
Richie gave Duncan a sheepish smile. "I have a weird imagination."  
  
"And no luck with girls," Duncan added. "You never could get what you wanted, could you?"  
  
"What's that supposed to mean?" Richie asked slightly worried what story this was leading up to.  
  
"I seem to remember you trying to get Angie to."  
  
"Mac!"  
  
"In my room, I might add."  
  
"No! No more adding! Stop!"  
  
"Luckily Tessa and I got to him before he could convince her. Although I don't think it was going to happen in the first place."  
  
"Mac, would ya stop?" Richie was getting less embarrassed and more annoyed as the stories progressed from childhood antics to adolescent happenings.  
  
"He always was one for a pretty face," Adam commented.  
  
"You should have seen him when he first met Amanda," Duncan laughed happy to be able to tell a story instead of listen to one. "I thought he was going to dehydrate he was drooling so much."  
  
"Oh, geeze, you guys!" Richie groaned.  
  
"He couldn't get a coherent sentence out."  
  
"He couldn't remember anything," Amanda put in. "I went to the barge to see MacLeod and Richie was taking down the laundry. he has cute boxers by the way."  
  
"Amanda!"  
  
"And I asked if MacLeod was there and he couldn't remember who I was talking about! It took him a good two minutes for it all to get put together in that little head of his."  
  
Heather laughed. "The barge, that's in Paris, right?"  
  
"Paris?" Greg repeated as Duncan nodded. "You didn't tell me you went to Paris."  
  
"Yeah, I did."  
  
"A couple times," Duncan added nonchalantly rubbing it in that he took Richie to Paris. "He's a fluent French speaker now."  
  
"I didn't know you spoke French!"  
  
"Um. oui?"  
  
"Geeze, we have a lot of catching up to do."  
  
"I'd say so," Duncan mumbled. Richie heard him and shot him a look.  
  
"What else don't I know about you?"  
  
"A lot," Joe sighed.  
  
Richie looked between Duncan and Joe and let his eyes flick toward Heather so they got the point they were embarrassing him. Heather could sense the tension in the room. Richie had told her it might be a little awkward and it seemed to have been going well. until now. She could tell people were holding down emotions for her benefit. She yawned.  
  
"I'd better get going," she whispered to Richie. "I have to work tomorrow and I have that paper, yet. Do you need a ride?"  
  
"No, I'm staying here. at least that's the plan as of now."  
  
"Do you want me to stick around for a while?" she offered.  
  
"Nah, go ahead, this is getting a little bitter."  
  
"I could insist you give me a ride because I'm so tired." She could tell he wasn't happy about having to stay.  
  
"Are you really?"  
  
"No, but I'm an actor."  
  
Richie glanced around at everyone who was intently staring at them wondering what they were whispering about. "Uh, Heather's gotta go," he said. "She's working tomorrow."  
  
"Oh, well, it was nice to meet you, Heather," Duncan stood up and shook her hand.  
  
"Nice to meet you, too."  
  
"Now that you know where I live, I expect you and Richie to come for dinner every now and then," Greg instructed.  
  
"Okay," she smiled.  
  
"And you can come up to Washington sometime if you like. I've been trying to convince Richie to invite you since last year," Duncan added. "Anytime you want. Even if this idiot here can't, you can have his room."  
  
"I really was hoping to have more time to talk to you woman to woman," Amanda interjected giving Heather a hug and saving her from the battle of the fathers. "Maybe I'll come down to see you some time."  
  
Heather blushed. Richie's family sure was friendly. "Sure."  
  
"Okay, you guys let her breathe and get out of here." Richie pushed his way through to his girlfriend. He put an arm around her and walked her out to her car. "I'm sorry; this wasn't supposed to be so weird. I'll call you later and apologize some more."  
  
Heather grinned and wrapped her arms around his neck. "Don't worry about it, because you get to feel awkward at my cousin's wedding next month."  
  
"Wedding?"  
  
"Everyone wants to meet the boyfriend." She reached up and kissed him. "We're popular like that."  
  
"Guess so." He kissed her. She kissed him. They kissed each other. After ten minutes of good-bye the front door opened.  
  
"Don't make me get the hose!" Joe yelled from the porch.  
  
Richie grinned and flicked him off behind Heather's back as he leaned in for a final kiss. "I guess I gotta go," he mumbled letting go of her reluctantly. "Talk to you later?"  
  
"I'll count the seconds," she grinned.  
  
"You'd better, 'cause I will too. And if you have a different number than me, we're going to have problems."  
  
"One," she grinned pulling away. "Two, nine, six, fifty four, thirty eight."  
  
Richie chuckled and shook his head. Some of the weirdest things came out of his mouth when he was around Heather and she always seemed to call him on it. He watched her drive away and heaved a great sigh before going to face everyone else again. 


	17. Maturity

"I see what you mean about that giggle," Duncan said as Richie rejoined everyone in the living room. "It's contagious."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"You picked out a great girl, Rich," Greg added.  
  
"I think so."  
  
"She doesn't talk much," Adam commented.  
  
"She's shy sometimes."  
  
"She's cute," Joe gave his approval.  
  
"She's perfect, Richie," Amanda smiled.  
  
Richie grinned at her. "I know. Despite you two acting like morons," he said turning his look to Duncan and Greg. "She still seems to like me."  
  
"Richie, what are you talking about?" Duncan asked.  
  
"You know, I really could have spent the evening without you two trying to out do each other."  
  
"Richie," Greg started.  
  
"It was ridiculous. How is it that you guys are the adults and I'm the kid?"  
  
"Watch it, Richard," Greg snapped. "I don't appreciate your attitude."  
  
"And I don't appreciate being made a total idiot out of in front of my girlfriend. A couple stories fine, a few embarrassing pictures is to be expected, not two grown men trying to one up each other."  
  
"You're right, Rich," Duncan said. He could tell Richie was really upset. "We shouldn't have done that in front of Heather."  
  
"You shouldn't be doing it at all," Richie told him. "I thought we went over this. There is no competition here. There's Mac and there's Dad, two totally completely different relationships."  
  
"I don't think we should be discussing this in front of your guests, Richie," Greg hinted.  
  
"Oh, like they weren't here from the beginning?"  
  
"Richie, what did I tell you about you atti-"  
  
"Oh, leave him alone, Greg," Duncan interrupted. "He's a little old for you to be doing that. He has a right to be angry."  
  
"This is how you let him act?" Greg asked. "Like immature brat?"  
  
"I didn't raise him," Duncan shot back taking a defensive step toward Greg. "I let him act like himself. Who he was before we met is none of my doing."  
  
"Oh, so you're saying this is my fault?" Greg edged closer.  
  
"Part of it." Duncan took another step.  
  
"Mac! Dad! Stop it! You think I'm acting immature? Listen to you two!" Richie yelled stepping between them. "Holy crap, you'd think I was actually worth something!"  
  
"You don't think you're worth anything?" Greg asked. "What did you do to my son?" he demanded of Duncan.  
  
"I didn't do anything," he insisted. "He's never said anything like that in front of me before. Maybe he feels that way because you abandoned him."  
  
"I didn't abandon him, he knows that! Don't you, Rich?"  
  
"Yeah," Richie answered. "Of course."  
  
"Didn't you tell me how hurt you were that he had left?" Duncan asked.  
  
"Well, yeah, but." Richie stammered. This wasn't what he was expecting.  
  
"You don't think you would be the slightest bit different if he had made an effort to get a hold of you?"  
  
"Mac, stop it," Richie told him. "What are you trying to do?"  
  
Duncan paused. "Richie, I'm sorry. I don't know what my problem is. I just. I thought I was ready to do this, I guess I'm not. I was way out of line, I'm sorry."  
  
"It's okay. Just chill, would ya?" Richie offered a slight grin.  
  
"I'll chill," Duncan promised. "Greg, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said those things."  
  
Greg nodded. "I shouldn't have been so defensive. I can't blame you for my not being there. But, Richie, next time you want to blow your top like that, don't."  
  
"Sorry," Richie mumbled.  
  
"Richie, you don't have anything to apologize for," Duncan told him. "You didn't do anything wrong."  
  
"Excuse me, I believe he's my son," Greg pointed out.  
  
"And he's my friend, I'm not going to let you treat him like that," Duncan insisted. "He's not a little kid that you can reprimand anymore."  
  
"He's my son and he knows I don't tolerate back talk."  
  
"You know what?" Richie yelled. "Screw it!"  
  
"Richard!"  
  
"I don't know why I thought this would work. You guys duke it out, I'm going to bed." He turned on his heel. "Sorry you had to see that you guys," he mumbled to Joe, Adam, and Amanda as he passed them on his way to the stairs.  
  
"Richie!" Amanda went after him.  
  
"Well I hope you two are happy," Adam said. "Now I see why he still acts like such a child. You two need to decide how old he is and treat him that way." Adam had spent some time a few hundred years back studying psychology and could tell why Richie was such a bundle of contradictions. His two father figures acted like children but expected him to be an adult. Half of him wanted to please them and the other half wanted to imitate them and he couldn't figure out which to do. It was a wonder he hadn't struck out on his own sooner.  
  
"Richie?" Amanda knocked lightly on his door before opening it. He was sitting cross-legged on his bed typing furiously on his laptop. "Are you okay?"  
  
"I'm fine," he mumbled not looking up.  
  
"You don't seem fine." She sat on the edge of his bed. "That was quite a show down there."  
  
Richie stopped typing. "Don't remind me. Better than a soap opera, huh?"  
  
"At least as dramatic."  
  
"Why did I think this was going to work? They hate each other."  
  
"They're just protective. Each one is looking out for you and they see the other as a threat," Amanda explained. "I'm sure this wouldn't be such a problem if they weren't both immortal. They love you and know that every immortal is a potential threat to their son, they don't want you to get hurt or killed."  
  
"It's stupid, neither one would ever do anything like that."  
  
"They don't know each other like you know them."  
  
"And my word isn't good enough? I trust both of them with my life. Why don't they understand that?"  
  
"Because they both want to be the one you trust," Amanda told him putting her hand on his arm. "I'll tell you what, what do you have going tomorrow?"  
  
"I have to work tomorrow night."  
  
"We're not leaving until the afternoon. So, I'll go down and get Duncan out of here. You talk to your dad and settle things. Then tomorrow meet Duncan for a late breakfast at ten at our hotel and then you settle things with him. How does that sound?"  
  
"Sounds like I'd never get any of this handled without you. Thanks, Amanda." He gave her a hug. "Maybe some time just you can come down and spend the weekend with me and Heather."  
  
"That sounds great."  
  
Richie stayed in his room and listened to Amanda and everyone else leave. Not sure how to handle things with his dad he changed for bed and waited for him to come. He got out his history book, settled onto his bed and began reading the chapter.  
  
"Rich?" Greg asked opening the door ten pages later. "You awake?"  
  
"Nope," Richie answered putting his book down and sitting up.  
  
"I think we need to talk." Greg pulled the chair out from Richie's desk and sat beside his bed.  
  
"Why did you do that?" Richie asked not wanting to waste time dancing around the issue like he usually did.  
  
"I didn't mean to embarrass you; I just never got the chance to pick on you in front of all your girlfriends."  
  
"Not that, you and Mac. What's up with you guys?  
  
Greg took a deep breath. "Richie, I've told you. I don't trust him."  
  
"Why? He's never done anything," he insisted. "All he's done is take care of me."  
  
"I just have a feeling."  
  
"It had to have come from somewhere, Dad."  
  
"I don't trust him, leave it at that," Greg told him sternly. Richie relented and waited for Greg to make the next move. "I think the bigger issue is your behavior."  
  
"My beha-"  
  
"Yeah, that's the attitude I'm talking about," Greg interrupted Richie's protest. "When did you start acting like that? I thought you understood how you're supposed to act."  
  
"Well, it's kinda hard to keep my cool when you and Mac are."  
  
"We're not now, so what's your excuse for the attitude?"  
  
Richie took a deep breath. "Sorry."  
  
"You know better, Richie."  
  
"I know."  
  
"Good." Greg smiled and patted Richie's knee. "So are we done here?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"How about we do breakfast tomorrow?"  
  
"Actually, I'm meeting Mac before they leave tomorrow. You know, so we can."  
  
"Right, of course. Don't want to part adversaries. Some other time."  
  
. . . . . .  
  
Richie was a couple minutes early and planned on waiting for Duncan in the lobby but spotted him before the buzz hit him.  
  
"How is it that even when I'm early you're still here first?" Richie asked.  
  
"I can't let you start getting the upper hand, now can I?"  
  
"Guess not."  
  
"Why don't we go for a walk?" Duncan offered.  
  
"Sure." The silently walked out into the parking lot and began circling the block. At the start of their third lap Richie spoke up. "What do you have against him?"  
  
"I don't know. It's just a gut instinct. I don't trust him."  
  
"Something had to make you feel that way."  
  
"There is something, I just can't put my finger on it."  
  
"So, it's just a feeling? No explanation, just I don't like that guy?"  
  
Duncan stopped walking and gently took hold of his arm. "Richie, if I had a straight answer for you I'd give it. I honestly don't know why. After four hundred years it's hard not to trust your instincts."  
  
"You don't think that jealousy has anything to do with it?" Richie asked in all honesty.  
  
"It's probably part of it, hell it might be all of it. Richie, I don't know. I know that last night when he was telling all those stories about you, I wanted to have some to tell. I know I get on to you about it a lot, but you really haven't done that many stupid things since I've known you. No matter how much I like you, Rich.I can't compete against your father. I'm not used to not being able to put up a good fight for what I want."  
  
Richie smiled a little. "You've told me a thousand times, Mac. You can't always get what you want."  
  
"We're not talking about video games, Rich, we're talking about family.Last night, when you said you weren't worth anything, what did you mean?"  
  
"It came out wrong," Richie assured him. "I just meant you guys were acting like you were fighting over ownership of the biggest gold strike in history or something. not some kid."  
  
"Richie, you're not a kid anymore. I might want you to be, but you're not. And I happen to think you're just as valuable as any gold strike."  
  
"Mac, I trust Dad. Just as much as I trust you. It doesn't matter who raised me or has known me the longest or who taught me how to be immortal.I trust you both completely. You know that, right?"  
  
"Yes and your trust in him should be enough for me to trust him, too."  
  
"But it's not." Richie started walking again. "Just because you can admit that. it doesn't change anything. You still hate him, he still hates you, and I'm still stuck in the middle."  
  
"Richie, I'm sorry. I'll try harder."  
  
"Didn't I usually promise you that?" Richie mused. "Geeze, Mac, I'm sorry all right?" he repeated the words he's said so often in the past three years. "I'll try harder, I swear." He laughed a little and Duncan joined him.  
  
"Guess we're not as different as we both claim."  
  
"Chalk one up to spending too much time together."  
  
Duncan stopped again. "Not too much time, just a lot of time. Never too much."  
  
Richie grinned slightly. "You know, I'm trying to avoid this whole mushy stuff thing. Work with me, Mac."  
  
"Come here, tough guy," Duncan laughed pulling Richie in for a hug. "So are you hungry?"  
  
"Me, hungry? Yeah, right." Richie rolled his eyes.  
  
"I know, I know, stupid question." Duncan kept his arm around Richie's shoulders and started down the street again.  
  
"There's no such thing as a stupid question, Mac," Richie told him. "But that one's dangerously close." 


	18. Wishie Wyan

Author's Note: Since it's been awhile I'll remind you who all these characters are. Steve and Melinda are Heather's dad and step-mom. Alex is the infamous O'Neal from the basketball team last year; Courtney and Brandon are Heather's younger half-siblings who are now fifteen and four respectively.  
  
"Oh, hello Richie," Melinda, Heather's step-mother, greeted in slight surprise when she rounded the corner into her living room and found Richie sitting on the floor with Brandon in front of the Super NES playing video games.  
  
"Hey, Melinda," Richie greeted turning around for a split second to not seem totally rude.  
  
"What are you doing here?" she asked flipping through the bills on the coffee table.  
  
"Heather has to work on some class thing so I came over to keep Brandon company while she was busy," he explained. Over the past year Richie had become a rather permanent fixture at the O'Neal house. "She's upstairs on the computer."  
  
"Oh, is Courtney home?"  
  
"Yeah, she got here about an hour ago screaming about not being ready for a date. wait where are you?" he searched the screen looking for Brandon's spy. Brandon giggled and made his man shoot Richie's. "Gee, thanks, man."  
  
Melinda smiled, Richie and Brandon got along like brothers. "Are you staying for dinner?"  
  
"I was going to stay the night and go with you guys to the wedding in the morning if that's not a problem," he said turning around as the game pronounced Brandon the victor.  
  
"Has it ever been a problem?" Melinda asked. "Of course it's fine."  
  
"I was just checking," Richie shrugged. "You never know."  
  
"That's very sweet of you, Richie, but you know you're always welcome here."  
  
"Les play again, Wishie," Brandon tugged on Richie's sleeve. Richie smiled; one day the kid would learn to talk properly.  
  
"I thought you wanted to read your new book?" Richie asked knowing that Brandon's parents didn't like him to spend a lot of time in front of the TV.  
  
"I cann' weed," Brandon told him.  
  
"Well, I can. Do you want me to read it to you?"  
  
Brandon smiled broadly and ran to get his book.  
  
"You are so good with him," Melinda commented.  
  
"I love kids," Richie told her standing up and stretching his legs. "I used to baby sit all the time."  
  
"You're a natural big brother."  
  
"I was an only child."  
  
"Either way you'll make a great father some day," she smiled at him before going to the kitchen to start dinner.  
  
"In theory," Richie mumbled to himself. "Put in practice, I'm a little lacking. Hey big guy, is that your new book?" Richie asked sitting on the couch and putting Brandon in his lap.  
  
"Yeah, mommy got it fow' me."  
  
"Well, let's see what we got here." Richie opened the book and began to read it running his finger under the words so Brandon could follow along.  
  
Ten minutes later Courtney sauntered down the stairs in a tight miniskirt and see through blouse tied just above her navel. She grinned proudly at Richie who sent Brandon to play in his room.  
  
"What do you think?" she asked batting her heavily mascaraed eyelashes.  
  
"Uh." Richie tried to think of a work other than tramp to describe Courtney's outfit.  
  
"Courtney Marie O'Neal!" Melinda yelled spotting her youngest daughter from the kitchen. "What do you think you are wearing?"  
  
"It's what all the cool kids wear, Mom," Courtney replied rolling her eyes.  
  
"Then I guess you're not going to be cool, because you're not going out in public in that."  
  
"Why?" the teen demanded. "I look cool!"  
  
"You look like a hussy."  
  
"Richie likes it, don't you?" Courtney turned to her older sister's cool boyfriend.  
  
"You want my honest opinion, Court? I think you look stupid. If one of my date's ever dressed like that, I'd make up an excuse to leave," Richie told her. He had dated plenty of girls who dressed like Courtney was trying to, but he had graduated high school since then.  
  
Courtney looked crushed. "You would?"  
  
"You're fifteen, Court," Richie told her getting up from the couch and putting an arm around her. "And for a fifteen year old you're pretty hot. when you're not in one of these get ups. Now, this boy you're going out with tonight, who did he ask out? You or the MTV reject?"  
  
"Me," Courtney answered glumly.  
  
"Then don't you think he's expecting to go out with you?"  
  
"I guess so."  
  
"Now, I'm not trying to tell you how to dress," Richie added. "I'm just telling you what I like, trendy. Not ultra hip, not nun conservative, but trendy and comfortable." Courtney looked up at him. "I'm sure Heather has something that can get all that goop off your face." He tapped her lightly on the chin and winked at her, causing her to blush and giggle.  
  
"Okay." She turned and went back up stairs.  
  
"How do you do that?" Melinda asked shaking her head.  
  
"She asked my opinion, I gave it to her," he shrugged. "It's just what you would have said only I'm not her mom. I am boy, just an older version of who she's trying to impress. Do you need any help with dinner?" he offered.  
  
"Richie," Courtney asked from the top of the stairs still red faced from scrubbing the make-up off. "Which shirt do you like?"  
  
He cast a discreet glance at Melinda who just as discreetly gave him her approval for both choices. "I'd go with the blue," he decided. "But that's just me. What do you think, Melinda?"  
  
"I think this teenage fashion stuff is way over my head," Melinda answered. "I'll just let you two decide."  
  
"The blue one?" Courtney clarified holding it in front of the almost identical pink shirt.  
  
"That's my vote," he nodded.  
  
"Kay, thanks," she disappeared off the landing and into her room.  
  
Richie turned back to Melinda with an embarrassed grin. "I'm really not trying to take over, I swear."  
  
Melinda smiled at him. "As long as you're on my side, have at her. She's at that 'I refuse to listen to my mother' phase."  
  
"She'll get over it. If this kid dumps her, she's running to you, not me," Richie assured her moving to lean on the counter that separated the kitchen from the living room. "Sure you don't need any help?"  
  
"Can you fix the salad?" Melinda asked putting lettuce, tomatoes, and olives on the counter.  
  
"Sure." Richie slid into position and set to his task. "So is Steve gonna be here tonight?" he asked.  
  
"Courtney's going out with a new boy tonight, you bet he is. Who else would give the 'son, what are you plans for the evening' speech?" Melinda reached around Richie for a tomato chunk.  
  
"I feel sorry for the kid already," Richie laughed. "Dads are scary when you're trying to take their daughter out. I have never have never been threatened harm by anything scarier than a dad. That was the only part of the first dates that bothered me."  
  
"Steve has the theory that the more nervous the boy appears the more honorable their intentions," Melinda explained.  
  
"It's a theory," Richie allowed.  
  
"That helps me sleep easy at night so don't knock it," she warned. "Because I know where you're sleeping tonight."  
  
Steve got home just in time to greet Courtney's date at the door. Richie went off to get Courtney and otherwise keep himself scarce. He found Heather in the office just as she hit the print button on the computer.  
  
"All done?" he asked.  
  
"Hey!" she greeted twisting to give him a kiss. "Sorry to abandon you."  
  
"No, don't worry about it. I'm bonding with your family."  
  
"Oh, really?" She stood and stretched. "What have you been up to?"  
  
"Playing with Brandon, I got a part time gig as Courtney's fashion consultant, and helped your mom with dinner."  
  
"That's what she was blabbing about when she came in here asking about my make-up remover," Heather realized. "She was all flustered 'cause she thought that she looked stupid. which she did. I'm just surprised she realized it."  
  
"Ah, that was my doing," Richie confessed. "She wasn't listening to your mom, so when she asked my opinion I threw in some of Melinda's."  
  
"Dinnow!" Brandon announced running into the room. Heather and Richie followed Brandon down stairs and enjoyed a nice dinner. Steve and Melinda filled Richie in on the family he was going to meet the next day and Heather warned him that her family was just as messed up as his.  
  
"Well," Steve clapped his hands together once everyone had abandoned their food in favor of conversation. "I believe it's time for this little guy to get ready for bed." He fondly ruffled Brandon's hair. "You need a bath?"  
  
Brandon made a face. "No!" Richie snorted into his water and Heather kicked him under the table.  
  
"I think you need a bath," Heather told Brandon. "You played a lot with Richie today and you're getting stinky."  
  
"No!" the four year old insisted.  
  
"Yes," Melinda told him picking him up out of his booster chair.  
  
"No!" he wailed as she carried him down the hall.  
  
Heather rolled her eyes and started collecting dishes. "Every time," she sighed.  
  
"I think it's funny," Richie admitted helping her with the dishes.  
  
"He does it because it makes you laugh," she told him filling the sink with hot water.  
  
"He does it because he's a boy," Steve corrected as he began spooning the left over mashed potatoes into a Tupperware. "Men don't like sissy things like being clean, right?" Richie grunted a few times from the dinning room where he had gone to get the glasses. "See?"  
  
Heather giggled. "I swear I don't understand men."  
  
"That's okay," Steve assured her. "I'll explain them to you. We grunt, scratch, and spit when in the company of other men and we're polite hard workers when we're around women, right, Rich?"  
  
"That pretty much covers it!" Richie called from the dinning room. After doing the dishes Richie and Heather went up to her room to get ready for bed and watch a movie. Heather went into her bathroom while Richie just used her room to change. Once they had settled down to start the movie, Brandon came running in wearing nothing but a too big football helmet.  
  
"Sorry," Melinda apologized coming in after the naked child.  
  
"Good night, Brandon," Heather and Richie chorused.  
  
"See they're going to bed, too," Melinda told Brandon as she carried him into his room.  
  
Richie flopped down on Heather's bed on his stomach so he could get a good view of the screen and Heather settled behind him propping her chin on his shoulders. Twenty minutes into Back to the Future Richie was asleep. An hour after that, Heather was too.  
  
Alex O'Neal pulled into the driveway of his parent's house and noted that Heather was already there. That meant that her boyfriend would be coming in the morning. Alex quietly entered the house and went upstairs to his room. On his way down the hall, he heard a movie playing in Heather's room and went in to say hi. He opened the door and found her half draped across Richie's back both in their pajamas. or underwear in Richie's case. He stomped over and stood over Richie arms crossed.  
  
"What are do you think you're doing?" he barked jerking the pair awake.  
  
"Alex!" Heather exclaimed. "What are you doing in here?"  
  
"I could ask him the same thing," Alex sneered down at Richie.  
  
"Well, I was sleeping," Richie told him.  
  
"Alex, get a grip. He's just spending the night." Heather rolled her eyes.  
  
"In your bed?"  
  
"That's the way we usually do it," Richie told him.  
  
"Do Mom and Dad know about this?" Alex asked Heather.  
  
"Of course they do," Richie answered for her. "You think I'd just stay at their house without them knowing?"  
  
"I don't know, would you?"  
  
"No!"  
  
"Alex, get out," Heather ordered. "This is none of your business."  
  
"None of business?!" Alex repeated.  
  
"What's going on in here?" Steve asked appearing in the door.  
  
"Sorry, Steve," Richie apologized. "Alex is just a little thrown off by my being here."  
  
"What's you're problem, Alex? He does it all the time," Steve told him.  
  
"You let him stay here?"  
  
"He's Heather's boyfriend, why wouldn't we?"  
  
"You're not afraid he's going to try to pull something?"  
  
"Hey!" Richie protested. "This only goes as far as we're both willing. I'd never force Heather into anything!"  
  
"He and Heather have talked and what they do is none of your business," Melinda said from behind Steve.  
  
"You're just turning your backs to this?" Alex was appalled.  
  
"Heather made her decision a long time ago," Melinda told him. "And it's none of your business. It's between her and Richie."  
  
"So you're okay with this?"  
  
"We trust both of them. Now leave them alone," Steve said sternly.  
  
"Just because your mom was a tramp doesn't mean you have to be, too," Alex told Heather before leaving.  
  
Richie followed him into the hall. "Hey!" He grabbed the older man by the arm and turned him around. "You'd better be glad you're her family, otherwise I'd be all over your ass for saying something like that to her. And if you do it again, I won't give a damn who you are. Nobody talks about my girlfriend like that, got it?" he warned in a harsh whisper.  
  
"My mother was not a tramp," Heather growled from her door.  
  
"Heather's mother was a very nice woman," Melinda added. "You shouldn't say that about anyone much your sister and her mother."  
  
Richie's eyes bore into Alex's. "Looks like your opinion has been out voted. Got anything to say."  
  
"I'm sorry, Heather," Alex said sincerely. "I just hate seeing you with this guy; it brings out the worst in me." Having the final word he turned and went into his room.  
  
"What did I ever do to you?" Richie asked as the door closed.  
  
"Come on, everyone back to bed," Melinda ordered. "We have a busy day tomorrow."  
  
"Are you okay?" Richie asked Heather.  
  
"I'm fine," she assured him crawling under the covers next to him. "When Alex gets mad he says whatever comes to mind. I think he's torn between hating me because he's parents almost broke up because of my mom or loving me because I'm still his sister. He just doesn't know what to do."  
  
"I can't believe he said that to you," Richie grumbled. "I don't care how mad he was or what his excuse is. that's just rude."  
  
"Calm down, Rich," Heater rolled over and kissed his nose. "I can handle him."  
  
"But I wanna handle him. the little." He was cut off when Heater pulled him into a deep kiss.  
  
"Now, happy thoughts, so you wake up happy," she told him as she lay back down and snuggled into his shoulder. "I love you," she whispered.  
  
"I love you, too," Richie answered with a grin. 


	19. The Wedding

The alarm went off rather early for Richie's tastes. He mumbled a greeting to Heather as he leaned across her to stop the annoying beeping noise coming from her nightstand.  
  
"I could get used to waking up like this," she grinned up at him.  
  
"Who knows," he smiled back. "You might get the chance." They kissed for a couple seconds then decided it would be more fun after they had both brushed their teeth. Still slightly uncoordinated because he wasn't fully awake Richie went into the hall bathroom to shower and Heather went into her bathroom to do the same. Once he had gotten partially dressed (dress pants, socks, and a dress shirt he was too lazy to tuck in or button) he made his way into the kitchen to either drink or make some coffee.  
  
"Oh!" Richie turned to find the source of the squeal and found Courtney sitting at the table in only a T-shirt eating some cereal blushing profusely.  
  
"Mind if I join you, or is that table reserved for the undressed?" he asked.  
  
"Um, I don't mind," she told him putting a napkin in her lap. Richie got a bowl out of the cupboard and put some coffee on before pouring himself some Lucky Charms.  
  
"So, how'd the date go?" he asked.  
  
"It was really fun; we went to the movies and then out to play mini golf."  
  
"Heather and I have done that."  
  
"Really?" Courtney seemed very pleased at the idea of dating the same way her college sister did.  
  
"Yeah, a couple times."  
  
"I heard you and Alex last night," she said softly.  
  
"Oh?"  
  
"What did he say to Heather?"  
  
"Nothing I'm going to repeat. Just suffice it to say I wasn't very happy when I heard it."  
  
"You sounded pretty pissed."  
  
"I was," he admitted as Alex shuffled into the kitchen similarly dressed as he was.  
  
"Going the easy route this morning, eh?" Alex asked joining Richie and Courtney at the table. Richie waited a few minutes before getting up to get some coffee.  
  
"Want some Alex?" he offered.  
  
"Sure." By Alex's tone Richie either figured that the man had come to his senses or his threat had put a little scare into him. "Did you sleep well?" he asked as Richie handed him a cup.  
  
"Like a baby, you?"  
  
Before Alex could answer Brandon came running into the kitchen wearing only his Ninja Turtles underwear. Silently he stopped in front of the cabinets and looked pitifully up at the one containing the cereal bowls.  
  
"How you doing big guy?" Richie asked. Brandon looked from Richie to the cupboard and back. "Are you hungry?" Richie patted his lap invitingly. With a wide grin Brandon walked over and crawled into Richie's lap. "What do you want to eat?"  
  
"Cewiol," the child answered.  
  
"You want something to drink?"  
  
"Juz."  
  
"You wanna help me get it?" Brandon's grin broadened. He knew what helping Richie get breakfast meant. "You ready?" Brandon nodded and slid off Richie's knees. Richie squatted behind him allowing the child to stand on his knees with his butt in his face. Richie grabbed him around his arms. "One, two, three!" On three Brandon jumped and with Richie's help did a little back flip before landing on Richie's shoulders. "Geeze, you're getting good at that." Richie walked around the kitchen stopping at the cupboards and refrigerator and stooping down a little for Brandon to get all he needed by himself. Richie took Brandon back to the table and poured everything for him and let the boy eat in his lap.  
  
"Hi, Aleze!" Brandon greeted cheerfully as he began to eat his sugar-coated cereal.  
  
"It's about time, little man, I was starting to feel neglected," Alex told him jutting his bottom lip out. "How come I didn't get to help you with breakfast?"  
  
"I didn' know you wa hew," Brandon told him obviously feeling very bad about selecting his sister's boyfriend over his own brother. "You help me tomowo."  
  
"So are you ready to be in the wedding?" Courtney asked. "You have a very important job."  
  
"That's right, you're the ring bearer," Richie added. "Are you excited?"  
  
"Yeah. I get to be the wing bewoaw."  
  
"Do you remember what you are supposed to do?" Alex asked.  
  
"Yeah, I waok down the ahlol like dis." Brandon gave everyone a demonstration. "Then I stay weawly still by Aleze until I go back to mommy."  
  
"Well, you need to finish your breakfast so we can all go get ready," Alex reminded him. Brandon finished his breakfast in Richie's lap. Then Alex took him upstairs to change and Richie sent Courtney to change while he did the breakfast dishes.  
  
"No food?" Richie asked as he went back into Heather's room.  
  
"In a minute," Heather told him. Melinda was putting the finishing curls in Heather's hair. Richie stood in the door and watched. Girls doing their hair had always fascinated him; Tessa had caught him watching her a couple times when she and Duncan would go out. Melinda was already dressed and ready to move onto Courtney's hair so after spraying on the last coat of hair spray she scurried off to do that.  
  
"So, always a bride's maid never a bride, huh?" Richie asked as Heather did a little spin for him.  
  
"I don't plan on being a bride, yet," she told him. "I want to finish school first."  
  
"I'll keep that in mind. Can I do anything for you?"  
  
"Shouldn't you be getting ready?"  
  
"From here, I've got like, three minutes of work to do. My hair curls naturally so I don't have to bother with all that."  
  
"In that case, to the kitchen with you! I'm hungry."  
  
Richie laughed. "What do you want?"  
  
"Gemme a pop tart."  
  
"Kay." Richie left to his task buttoning and tucking in his shirt on the way.  
  
Twenty minutes later they all piled into two cars and headed to the church. After the photographer took pictures of the wedding party, that included Heather, Courtney, Alex, and Brandon, everyone took their seats and waited for the wedding to begin. Not ten minutes into the ceremony Richie realized he was very out of place at a Catholic wedding. There was lots of sitting and standing and kneeling and prayers and words. and he didn't have the slightest clue what to do or say. So he just kept his mouth shut and followed everyone else's lead. Once they got to the boring part Richie kept an eye on Brandon who seemed very annoyed that he had to stand still for so long. He started tossing the pillow and catching it (luckily the rings were tied to it with a ribbon), dancing from one foot to the other, and tugging on Alex's sleeve trying to get his attention. Alex looked down at him and cast a questioning look at his mother, who gave him the go ahead. Within seconds Brandon was on his older brother's hip whispering to him. Alex looked back to his mom and caught Richie's eye instead. Richie grinned at him and shook his head a silent admission that he'd do the same thing. The next thing Richie knew Brandon was out of Alex's arms and in his own lap.  
  
"I wanna play," the child whispered in Richie's ear.  
  
Richie smiled sheepishly at the people who had turned in their pews to see where the ring bearer had gone to. "You can't now," Richie whispered back. "Go back up with Alex."  
  
"No."  
  
"Your mommy's going to say the same thing. It's almost your part."  
  
"Brandon, sweetie," Melinda leaned over. "Go back up with Alex."  
  
"No, wanna play."  
  
"Not now, but soon."  
  
"No."  
  
"Brandon," Steven whispered as loudly as he dared in the warning tone that men magically received when they became fathers. "Go."  
  
"Wishie come to?" Brandon asked.  
  
"Can't big guy, I'm supposed to stay here."  
  
"Wishie come too," the four year old ordered raising his voice.  
  
"Shhh!" Melinda hissed. "Now get up there."  
  
Richie was intently aware of how many people were watching (including the bride and groom, both grinning broadly) as he stood up and walked Brandon back to the alter. Luckily the wedding was in a small church with only two rows of pews and Richie had been sitting on the outer edge on the groom's side. So he only had to go as far as the front of the church before giving Brandon a little shove toward Alex. Once the bride and groom's attention was back to what the priest was saying Richie tried to go back to his seat only to stop when he hear Heather urgently whisper his name. He turned and saw Brandon coming back down the aisle toward him. Sighing and blushing, Richie took Brandon's hand and sent him back to Alex who held the child firmly in position. Brandon let out a small shriek as Richie tried to once again walk away and, now blushing harder than he ever had before, Richie resigned to squatting by the wall next to the pew where the groom's parents sat for the rest of the ceremony for no other reason than to keep Brandon where he was supposed to be. At the end of the ceremony instead of walking down the aisle with the flower girl, Brandon was escorted down the aisle by Alex and a bridesmaid and the flower girl (who had behaved beautifully for a six year old girl) went with Courtney and a groomsman.  
  
Richie stood with Brandon on his hip out side the church apologizing over and over to the bride and groom who laughed it off and admitted they wouldn't have let someone so young in the wedding party if they hadn't hoped for a little childish disruption. That make Richie feel a little better, but he was still horribly embarrassed when various guests came over to introduce themselves and ask who he was.  
  
"I'm his sister's boyfriend," he explained for the twelve billionth time, this time to an older couple.  
  
"I thought you were his father," the man said as if he was trying to get Richie to confess to some crime.  
  
"Arthur!" the man's wife scolded. "It's none of your business. Besides, I don't see a ring, do you?"  
  
"They don't get married these days," the old man argued.  
  
"I'm Heather's boyfriend," Richie used the hand that wasn't supporting the child to gesture to where Heather was standing looking as though she was very annoyed by the other elderly couple that had cornered her. "Brandon's her little brother. And just so you know," he leaned forward and whispered. "I intend to marry her before I make her pregnant." Reacting just as he hoped and expected the couple murmured their good byes and left him able to go rescue his girlfriend.  
  
The reception was like nothing Richie had ever seen before. Heather's family sure liked to party. Heather's family was also very friendly. Richie was kidnapped by one family member after another and interrogated about where he grew up, why he was in Missouri, how he and Heather met, what does he do for a living, what does he plan on being when he grew up (most people seemed very pleased at the idea of being a lawyer), and when he was going to propose to Heather.  
  
"I haven't thought about it," Richie said to the great Aunt that had most recently whisked him onto the dance floor.  
  
"Well, she's a great girl, even if she comes from a slightly questionable background."  
  
Richie bit his tongue and smiled politely. "She is great. And if this pans out past college you'll be the first to get an invitation." The answer satisfied the woman and they finished their dance. Once the music stopped Richie thanked Great-Aunt Whoever before seeking Heather's attention. "But we've been here how long and I haven't gotten to dance with the person I came with, yet," he whined playfully.  
  
"Oh, honestly," she laughed getting up from the table and leaving her shoes abandoned under the chair.  
  
Every time a new song started Richie thanked Tessa for her instance on teaching him to dance. She had successfully taught the somewhat awkward teenage Richie to do first the box step, then to waltz, fox trot, cha-cha and tango. Duncan's intensive training had improved his skills considerably, and now he was very smooth and graceful on the dance floor. Heather grinned as he twirled her around the floor.  
  
"Where did you learn to dance like that?" she asked when they decided to call it quits for the time being.  
  
"Tessa and Mac," Richie answered. "Mostly, and I picked up a few moves here and there." As Richie took a sip of his Pepsi a familiar feeling washed over him. "Ah, duty calls," he laughed nervously shaking the empty coke can. "Be right back." Hastily Richie made his way out of the rented out elk's lodge and glanced around the parking lot. His eyes darted around examining any place someone could hide. Taking his sword from its hiding place (he had to call his dad to figure out how to hide a sword at the wedding because Mac insisted he carried it when he was off campus and not at work) he rounded the corner. "Who's there?" he demanded.  
  
"Marcus Witiker." An immortal met him on the side of the building with no windows with his blade hanging dully at his side.  
  
"Richie Ryan, just passing through," he assure him blade still up. "Not looking for a fight."  
  
"Pity, I am." Marcus lunged at Richie. Richie could tell Witiker was a good fighter, but he was determined to be better. For the first time in a long time Richie was glad he was still slightly obsessed with pleasing Duncan, if he hadn't he wouldn't have been learning from Miller, he wouldn't have his sword, he would be defenseless and dead. Much like Witiker would be when Richie was done with him.  
  
"I'm gonna tell you this once; you stop now and I won't kill you," Richie said as he successfully deflected a blow intended for his neck.  
  
"There can be only one!" Witiker shouted back.  
  
Richie groaned inwardly while keeping his defenses up. He hated headhunters. He didn't understand how someone could travel around looking to kill people. For a five minute eternity, the immortals exchanged blows. Richie was beginning to pant a little and Heather started creeping into the back of his mind. How was he going to explain this one? Witiker's blade came dangerously close to making contact with Richie's flesh and the young immortal just barely avoided having to explain a gaping bloody hole in his suit. He forced the girl from his mind and concentrated on ending the fight as soon as possible. Getting his second wind Richie began to force blow after blow on his opponent and soon had the immortal disarmed.  
  
"Next time leave me alone," Richie grumbled as he brought his blade down for the final blow. The quickening was not one of the nicest he had ever gotten. He was nearly thrown off his feet more than once. The only thing that kept him standing was his desire to keep himself as clean as possible to avoid probing questions.  
  
"Where were you?" Heather asked when he staggered as gracefully as possible back to their table and sat down.  
  
"Um, bathroom," Richie answered. He had splashed some water on his face and tried to hide any signs of his fight.  
  
"Did the lights go out in there, too?"  
  
"Oh, good, I thought it was just me. Thought I hit a wire or something without noticing." He smiled his innocent smile and winked at her.  
  
"You're disgusting!" she exclaimed with a laugh.  
  
"But you love me for it," he reminded her.  
  
He leaned in to steel a kiss, but they were interrupted by a yell. They looked up and saw a stampede of kids headed their way with Brandon mixed into the pack. It seemed to Richie that a family wide game of hide-and-go- seek had broken out. Kids dashed behind curtains, under tables, under coats, behind adults and a particular four year old O'Neal sought refuge under the bride's train.  
  
"Don' moob," he whispered loudly. The bride remained still and everyone acted as if nothing was going on. Richie could immediately tell all the O'Neal family wedding first timers because they all seemed as confused as he did.  
  
"So, this is normal?" Richie asked Heather who seemed none too surprised by the sudden disruption.  
  
"Every get together."  
  
"Does Brandon always hide under someone's skirt?"  
  
"Every wedding someone does," she shrugged. "Alex started it," she whispered.  
  
"You're family is weirder than mine. and that's saying something."  
  
"Heather, can I talk to you?" Alex approached them. "In private," he added. Heather cast a glance at Richie who shrugged and turned into the table. Alex took Heather's hand and led her to the dance floor.  
  
"Son, can I have a word with you?" Steven asked sitting in the chair Heather had previously occupied.  
  
"Um, wa'id I do?" Richie asked. In his previous experiences being called 'Son' by your girlfriend's father was a bad thing.  
  
"I've been hearing rumors that you want to marry my daughter."  
  
"Oh, um. It's just. I'm at a wedding and people keep asking me about it."  
  
"And you tell them you want to get her pregnant?"  
  
Richie grinned out of nervous habit. "That was a joke, this couple kept accusing me of being Brandon's father."  
  
"They always do," Steven assured him. "Since he's adopted they think that every semi-adult male we bring with us is his father."  
  
"Oh," Richie laughed, feeling the mood of the conversation change. "So I'm semi-adult?"  
  
"And you're not marring my daughter," Steven added. "Or getting her pregnant until I say you can, you hear me?"  
  
"Yes, sir," Richie answered.  
  
With that, Steven got up and walked away. Richie just shook his head and noticed that Heather had stopped dancing with Alex. Just then, the D.J. announced the last dance of the evening so Richie walked over and asked his girlfriend to dance.  
  
"What did dad have to talk to you about?"  
  
"Nothing. Well, he heard what I said to those people that thought I was Brandon's dad. He was just warning me that I couldn't marry you or impregnate you without his permission." He smirked at her shocked expression.  
  
"What! I'm going."  
  
"What are you so worked up about?" Richie asked.  
  
"Alex must have heard too, because he oh so subtly asked me if I was pregnant. He must have told Dad."  
  
"Heather it is a reasonable assumption. though I don't think it's any of Alex's business."  
  
"Sorry," Heather apologized. "My family tends to jump to conclusions."  
  
"Hey, it's okay, really." Richie dipped her to get her mind off the conversation just as the music ended. He and Heather headed over to the parking lot and met up with her family. Richie bid them good night and walked over to his car and drove back to Greg's.  
  
AN: Sorry it took so long. I had a hell of a time getting this chapter out. Many thanks to Lori who was very patient and was a HUGE help. I'm going to try to get out one more chap before I go on vacation where I will be doing plenty of writing. I just won't have access to a computer. So don't worry this story is not being abandoned, just I'm not here to work on it. 


	20. Summer

AN: This is it before I go on vacation. So it'll be around two weeks before any of my stories get up dated. I have two days I might get a chance to update on so I'll try. Don't worry; no big cliff hangers here. I'm being nice.  
  
. . . . . .  
  
"You have a B what are you so worked up about?" John asked as Richie dug around the crap scattered across their room looking for his shoes.  
  
"But I want an A," Richie told him.  
  
"Well, what are you going to do about it?"  
  
"Get my A."  
  
Richie went into Professor Conroy's office and went straight to his secretary.  
  
"Can I help you?" she asked.  
  
"Is Professor Conroy here?"  
  
"Is he expecting you?"  
  
"Kinda."  
  
She eyed him warily as she reached for the phone. "Name."  
  
"Richard Ryan."  
  
"Professor, there's a Richard Ryan here to see you. Shall I send him in?" She put down the phone. "Go on in."  
  
"Thank you."  
  
"What can I help you with?" Professor Conroy asked pleasantly.  
  
"Is it too late for that lecture thing?" Richie asked.  
  
"Lecture thing?"  
  
"Yeah. On going to juvie. Is it too late to do that?"  
  
"I take it you're not pleased with your grade?"  
  
"No. I studied my butt off for your class and only managed a B. If I can get an A, I want it," Richie told him. "And I told you before, I'll do anything to get it."  
  
"Then I will give you the opportunity." He told him. "What is your schedule like on Saturday?"  
  
. . . . . .  
  
'What have I gotten myself into?' Richie thought to himself as he watched student after student enter the lecture hall. Professor Conroy had made the lecture extra credit for any student in any of his classes and Richie hadn't expected so many to show up on a Saturday morning. Or maybe he had just wished so many wouldn't show up. He hated public speaking and hated big crowds.  
  
The professor stood and went to the podium to introduce him. "Today one of your fellow classmates has agreed to speak to you about his experiences in a juvenile detention center. You are expected to stay the complete hour to get credit and you may sign in with your student number and class time on your way out." He stepped aside and motioned Richie to the podium.  
  
Slowly Richie got up and walked to his position. "I so wish I was in the audience right now," he started. A few students laughed. "Uh, I'm really no good at this. To be honest I'm doing this for the extra credit. If I had a better grade, you guys wouldn't be here." A few more people laughed. "Where to begin." he wondered out loud.  
  
"How old were you?" somebody asked.  
  
"Fifteen when I went in, sixteen when I got out. I like this whole question thing. Who's next?"  
  
"What did you do?"  
  
Richie laughed a little. "I was joy riding. They pulled me over because somehow while hot wiring the car, I shorted out the break lights." They laughed again. "I have a bit of a rep back home with the cops. So they knew I was up to no good with one look and they hauled me in. I got sentenced to a year but got out after nine months."  
  
"What was it like?"  
  
"Like a really strict boarding school," Richie began. "We were divided by grade and age. 8-12, 13-15, 16-18 so each cell block had a different age group."  
  
"What was a day like?"  
  
Richie took a deep breath. "Well at my place at 6:30 you got up. You had to be dressed and have your room clean by seven, which was inspection time. An officer would come to your room and make sure everything was exactly like it was supposed to be. Bed made like this, clothes folded like this, everything in its place. Once you and your roommate passed inspection, it was time for breakfast. If you didn't pass you had to wait for the officer to finish with everyone else and get back to you. You had to eat all your food and put your dishes away by eight so you could be in class by 8:15. You had to get a certain amount of work done before you could go to lunch at noon. And one o'clock you were back in class until three. Then you had some time to chill until five. Then at five you had to do homework or study or read and be silent until dinner. After dinner were chores, then lights out. And it starts all over again six days a week. Sunday was a bit of a relaxing day but there were still schedules. Wake up, meals, church, when we got to go outside, when we had to be in our rooms."  
  
"What were your chores?"  
  
"There was a rotation. For me it was Monday: garbage, Tuesday: dishes, Wednesday: cafeteria clean up, Thursday: grounds, Friday: bathrooms, Saturday: laundry, Sunday: the rec room."  
  
"Which was the worst?"  
  
"Laundry. A couple hundred sweaty boys and a weeks worth of their laundry. It was disgusting."  
  
"Did you get punished?"  
  
"Me personally? Yeah. A few times. Warden Karloson was one of those creative punishment guys. He did stuff like make you stand in the hall holding two buckets of water out to your sides for ten minutes or more depending on what you did. You couldn't put your arms down and you couldn't spill the water. Or sit in a certain spot outside your door after lights out. You couldn't lean against the wall, you couldn't sleep, and you couldn't make any noise. If you got in trouble for talking back or out of turn they would gag you and make you walk around like that all day. That happened to me a couple times. If you didn't do your school work, they'd put a class room desk in the cafeteria and tie you to it all day and you kept getting all these extra assignments you had to do and you couldn't get up at all until you finished everything and you couldn't talk. So all day you just sat there and did work except when you got to eat. But you only got ten minutes per meal and you didn't get to go to the bathroom until you were done. That was the worst part. If you didn't eat all your food you missed the next meal. But you couldn't just give your food to someone else because if they caught you then both of you missed the next meal."  
  
"Is that legal? Not feeding a kid?"  
  
Richie shrugged. "He did it."  
  
"Did they ever beat anybody?"  
  
"Not that I know of. I know that if you got in a fight with somebody they tied you together for forty-eight hours. You had to do everything together, eat, do your homework, do your chores, go to the bathroom, shower, sleep, everything. That happened to me a couple times, too."  
  
"Did they do anything for your birthdays?"  
  
"You got out of whatever chore you wanted. I skipped laundry. And while everyone else was doing chores you got to watch TV."  
  
"Did it rehabilitate you?"  
  
"It's true what they say. All jail time teaches you is how not to get caught. I pulled a few jobs after I got out."  
  
Richie easily filled the hour and most people were reluctant to go. Richie included; he stuck around after everyone was dismissed and answered more questions for another hour.  
  
. . . . . .  
  
Richie got his A and got the same in all his other classes that semester. That Christmas, Richie stayed in Missouri and joined his father in the annual camping trip. They went fishing and hiking and even trained a little. Richie called Duncan in Paris to wish everyone a merry Christmas, make sure they had gotten the gifts he had sent, and thank them for the ones he had gotten.  
  
The Cougars didn't make it to the Big Twelve that year by one game. they were beat out by OU. Richie swore revenge.  
  
The spring semester he ended up with a B in his philosophy class but couldn't do anything about it so didn't worry about it. He finished his sophomore year with a 3.87 GPA. He went home to Washington of the summer.  
  
. . . . . .  
  
"When are you coming home?" Greg asked as he and Richie did the dishes after their final meal together before Richie left for the summer.  
  
"I'll be back for tryouts. Then practice."  
  
"Are you staying here?"  
  
"I was hoping to."  
  
"Good. What if you just bring all your things down and stay here between tryouts and when fall practice starts?" Greg suggested.  
  
"But I was going to stay with Mac," Richie told him. "I haven't seen him since the Washington game last fall."  
  
"Oh," Greg said softly.  
  
"Dad, don't do that. You know I like it up there with them and I like it down here with you. I really crushed Mac staying here for Christmas. It's kinda a big deal up there. I at least want to be there for the summer."  
  
"Richie," Greg put his dishtowel down and leaned on the counter. "One of these days you're going to have to make a decision. You can't mooch off of MacLeod's money the rest of your life."  
  
"What?"  
  
"You have to go out on your own."  
  
"I was. For almost a year I had my own place back home. He's just paying for school, but I'm paying him back. I'm not mooching."  
  
"And the car? The computer? The phone? The credit card? Are you paying him back for those, too?"  
  
Richie sat down at the table. "What is this really about?"  
  
"I don't like you just taking things from him."  
  
"I don't just take anything. He's just kinda free with his money, that's all."  
  
"When it comes to you."  
  
"Dad."  
  
"Richie, if you want to be friends with him, fine. You're too old for me to do anything about it. But I want you to stop advertising how much money he has and how much he likes to spend it on you."  
  
"I don't advertise it," Richie protested.  
  
"If I asked anyone on the team how you got your car, what would they say?" Greg pointed out.  
  
"Dad, I'm a part time waiter at a university hangout. How else am I supposed to explain a Land Rover suddenly showing up in the parking lot?"  
  
"I don't want you spreading the word around. People don't need to know where you get all your stuff."  
  
"I bet you wouldn't be saying that if it all came from you," Richie answered.  
  
"What did you say?" Greg asked.  
  
"Is that why you hate him so much? Because he got me stuff before you could?"  
  
"Money has nothing to do with it, Richard. And I think it would be wise if you think before you speak like that to me," Greg told him coldly.  
  
"I'm sorry," Richie apologized. "But I still think it's true. Dad, the guy's four hundred years old, you think he doesn't have a couple hundred million in bank accounts around the world? I happen to know how much money he has, and I know for a fact, that to him buying a Land Rover is like taking a kid to McDonalds. You do it because you feel like being nice. I haven't made a dent in his savings. And once I have the money I'm paying back everything I can. I don't care if it takes me four hundred years. He's getting all his money back."  
  
"I still think he's buttering you up," Greg said getting a glass of water. "He wants something."  
  
"What? My head? Don't you think he'd save himself the trouble of tricking me into liking him and just take it? Dad, I don't care what either one of you say about the other. I don't believe either one of you is out to get me. Can we please change the subject?"  
  
"I want to take you on a trip over Spring Break," Greg told him. "Just me and you."  
  
"Sounds good," Richie grinned. "Where to?"  
  
"You'll see."  
  
"And don't make any plans for winter holiday either. I want to keep the tradition going."  
  
"Okay," Richie thought for a minute. "That leaves me Easter and summer with Mac. I guess that's kinda even."  
  
"Are you really going to drive all the way up there for Easter?" Greg asked. "By the time you got there you'd have just enough time to turn around and come home."  
  
"I'll fly or something," Richie decided. "I'm not going to not see him all year."  
  
"You'll have the summer."  
  
"Dad, stop pushing, okay?"  
  
"I'm sorry, Rich," Greg apologized. "I'm not used to sharing."  
  
. . . . . . *One week later. Seacouver, Washington*  
  
"What are you grinning about?" Duncan asked looking at Richie across the table.  
  
"I'm just glad to be home," Richie shrugged.  
  
"And?" Duncan prompted. "I know you; you don't grin like that just because you're home."  
  
"I might have some news," he admitted.  
  
"Well, what is it?" Duncan asked when Richie didn't continue.  
  
"You won't be paying room and board next year."  
  
"Greg convinced you to let him pay?" Greg had been pushing to distance Richie from his close relationship with Duncan all year. He was insisting on paying for the rest of Richie's schooling.  
  
"He's not paying it either."  
  
"Are you going to live at a bus stop?"  
  
"No," Richie grinned. "At the team house. rent free. I'm the new captain."  
  
"You got it?" Duncan nearly shouted. "I thought you said there weren't junior captains?"  
  
"There hasn't been for, like, almost thirty years. I broke the streak."  
  
"Richie that's great! Why didn't you call when you found out?"  
  
"I wanted to tell you in person."  
  
"Well I knew you were going to be starting. But captain? Congratulations!"  
  
"I get to go from sharing a tiny dorm room to the master suite. No more near closet rooms for me," he joked jerking his thumb towards the staircase in the corner of the loft.  
  
"Hey, I offered to split the loft with you. You said you were fine upstairs."  
  
"And you believed me?" It was a long-standing argument between the two. When they moved into the loft Duncan had plans to divide it into a two- bedroom apartment but Richie insisted on the room upstairs. It was no more than a closet really. It just had enough room for his furniture. But Richie insisted on it saying he was looking for his own place. But when he moved out, he left his furniture and visited often. "But that means I have to go back for tryouts. I get to help with the cut list, run drills, blah blah blah. But I was hoping maybe I could just fly down? It's only for a week and I wanted to come back up until practice started if that's okay."  
  
"If that's okay?" Duncan repeated. "Richie, it's great that you're the captain in your junior year, that's a great honor, and it carries more responsibilities and I know that. We'll have most of the summer together, I can handle a week. Maybe I'll go with you if business is slow."  
  
"Cool."  
  
. . . . . .  
  
A month later Richie flew down for a week to help run tryouts and discuss the upcoming season with Coach Roberts. He came home and stayed for another month until he had to go back for practice. He left with the plans on staying the weekend of the Washington game and not returning until the summer. His father wanted to go camping again.  
  
"Are you sure you're not mad?" Richie asked for the twelfth time as he and Duncan loaded his car.  
  
"Richie," Duncan started then stopped trying to find the right words to say. "I wish you would come home more, but I understand that you have a lot of catching up to do with Greg and you have a lot more responsibility with the team now and you're getting really busy. There's nothing I can do about it. And there will come a time when you leave for good. You're not always going to be around. There's nothing I can do about that either. But we don't live by timelines. We can still get together for a week a year for the next three hundred years."  
  
"Are you trying to guilt trip me into coming up more?"  
  
"Yes," Duncan admitted. "Is it working?"  
  
"Starting to."  
  
"I'll miss you, Rich. You better get going."  
  
"Now you're going to do the whole avoidance thing."  
  
"Call me when you get there and tell me what you think."  
  
"Think about what?"  
  
"The team house."  
  
"I think it' where I get to live rent-free for the next year."  
  
Duncan just looked at Richie, he would miss the boy. "Bye, Richie."  
  
"Bye, Mac." Richie knew he'd be talking with Mac frequently and would see him fairly soon, but he still missed the time where it was just him, Mac and Tessa everyday. He picked up the last bag and placed in the car, gave Duncan a hug and climbed in. He started the CD player and drove off, ready for his junior year of college.  
  
AN: I know what you're all thinking. "What happened to his sophomore year? I'll tell you what happened. nothing. But Junior year.. Well, that's going to be something to look forward to. And to all those asking about Heather and immortality; yes, she will learn about immortals and that Richie is one of them. You just have to be patient. 


	21. Back Again

AN: I'm so sorry you guys. I went out of town and when I got back ff was in the middle of the server upgrades! But I have two new chaps ready to go! Please review!  
  
Richie could hear Coug barking as he unlocked the front door of the team house.  
  
"Hey, boy!" Richie greeted scratching the dog behind the ears.  
  
"Hey, Ryan," Jacob Monday, a senior, greeted from the living room.  
  
"Dang, Sinclair didn't tell me about this." Richie turned the corner into the living room and took in the big screen TV. "When did they get this stuff? I thought they just got a new fridge." It was customary for the departing seniors to update, replace, or add something in the house.  
  
"I donno," Monday shrugged. "I showed up with Coug this morning and a couple hours later this stuff was delivered. Do you know how to hook one of these up?" He held up a bundle of wires that were meant to attach the TV to the Nintendo 64 sitting in front of him.  
  
"Lemme see," Richie crawled behind the TV and began plugging wires in. "Is it working now?"  
  
"Nope."  
  
He moved wires around. "Now?"  
  
"Nope."  
  
He made a few more adjustments. "Now?"  
  
"Nope."  
  
"Oh wait. how about now?"  
  
"We have contact!"  
  
Richie wiggled out from behind the set. "Sweet. Play you one." He held up a game cartridge.  
  
"You're on!"  
  
*Two hours later*  
  
"Puppy interference!" Richie yelled as Coug began sniffing at the ninjas on the screen blocking his view.  
  
"Coug, stay!" Monday ordered with a laugh. The dog obediently sat and wagged his tail.  
  
"You train him this summer?" Richie asked in a mix of pleasant surprise and annoyance as he stood up to see over the dog. "You're cheating!" he insisted desperately trying to find a place for his man to hide for a few seconds.  
  
"Not my fault you're uncoordinated," Monday shot back quickly swooping in for yet another attack.  
  
"I'm just video game challenged. You take me on in the real world and you're screwed."  
  
"I'm so scared."  
  
"You'd better be.I control practices. I can make your life hell."  
  
"Point made."  
  
"I thought so."  
  
"A little help here?" a voice asked from the front door.  
  
Monday promptly killed Richie's man. "I win."  
  
"Ten laps!" Richie ordered with a grin, getting up to help whoever had just arrived.  
  
"Yes, sir, right away, sir," Monday replied with a sarcastic salute getting up as well.  
  
"Hey John!" Richie said taking a bag from his former roommate's hand.  
  
"Hernandez, dude, sup?" Monday asked opening the door wider with one hand and restraining Coug, who seemed to have forgotten all of his training, with the other.  
  
"I never thought a two hour drive could take so long," John complained. "Rich, did you see that freeway! The back up was insane!"  
  
"I know I was tempted to kick in the four wheel drive and hop the median." Richie followed John to the room he had been given before vacation. The departing starters gave their room to the player taking their place the next year.  
  
"Did you?"  
  
"No, there was a cop right behind me. Monday beat me here."  
  
"I what?" Monday asked coming in the room with a bag he had retrieved from John's car.  
  
"Got here before me. He was setting up his N 64 when I showed up."  
  
"That's not mine," Monday corrected. "It came with the TV."  
  
"The seniors got that too? And all those games? That's really expensive." Richie frowned. "There's no way."  
  
"Then where did it come from?" John asked. "Who sent them?"  
  
Suddenly it dawned on Richie. "He didn't," he mumbled returning to the living room and looking through the games. There were eight, three of which involved killing your opponent with a sword, one motorcycle racing game, two martial arts games, one basketball, and the kicker was Grand Theft Auto. "Real funny," he continued heading straight for where he left his cell phone on the couch and dialing.  
  
"And the mystery man is." John whispered under his breath as the phone rang it Richie's ear.  
  
"Mac!" Richie yelled in exasperation as soon as he answered.  
  
"Mac," Monday and John repeated with a unison nod.  
  
"What?" Duncan asked innocently.  
  
"I. How could you. why did you think that. you're an ass!" he finally decided on.  
  
Duncan chuckled. "I take it all got there today?"  
  
"I just want you to know that the only reason it's all still here is because somebody got here before I did."  
  
"Is that the only reason?" Duncan asked. Richie could hear is devilish smile.  
  
"Bite me," Richie grumbled. "You did it on purpose and you know it."  
  
"Quite possibly."  
  
"You're a jerk."  
  
"I had some extra money lying around because there's no room and bored fees this year. Thought I'd do something for the team."  
  
"Without asking me first? Mac, come on, dude. Not cool." Duncan laughed. "What now?" Richie demanded.  
  
"College is really rubbing off on you."  
  
"Wadaya mean?"  
  
"You never said dude before and now you say it all the time."  
  
"Oh, get off it."  
  
"What? Rich, calm down."  
  
"Mac you can't keep doing this," Richie insisted oblivious to the three other team members that had shown up together that were now listing to him as well.  
  
"Richie, why are you making such a big deal out of this? It's just a few good luck this season gifts."  
  
"A few?" Richie repeated. "A few is some games for a system we already have. Not the games, system, and TV."  
  
"Alright, I'm sorry. I was just trying to do something nice."  
  
"Mac." Richie caught site of the five men staring intently at him trying to piece together the conversation and closed himself in the closet. "Next time check with me first," he whispered. "I get what you're doing and it's really nice and all but not so big. Small would be a nice change of pace, okay?"  
  
"Okay," Duncan consented. "I'll slow down. I'm just really proud of you and I don't know how else to show you."  
  
"You could just tell me," he suggested.  
  
"Where's the fun in that?" Duncan asked.  
  
"Maa-aac," Richie rolled his eyes.  
  
"Sorry, sorry. I'm sure you have some explaining to do. I'll talk to you later."  
  
"Bye, Mac."  
  
"And Rich?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"I'm proud of you."  
  
Riche blushed and grinned. "Thanks," he said before hanging up and exiting the closet.  
  
"Great, our captain just came out of the closet," Johnson, a senior, laughed.  
  
Richie looked at him with a grin. "You know the idea turns you on," he purred imitating Amanda's saunter as he went to get a soda from the kitchen. "Anybody else want something?" He was answered by a series of 'yeah's' and grunts. "So how many of those were a yes?"  
  
. . . . . .  
  
"You've improved," Miller acknowledged as Richie's attack sent him stumbling backwards a few paces.  
  
"Thanks," Richie returned going in for the kill. "Seems like you've been practicing, too," he added jumping out of the way of a counter attack from the older immortal.  
  
"Your father is a worthy opponent."  
  
"You and my dad?" Richie would have laughed if he had been anywhere else. He knew Greg was immortal but the idea of the man who used to kiss his boo- boos with a sword in his hand still seemed impossible for him.  
  
"Have you not fought him?"  
  
"Not yet," Richie managed through clenched teeth as a blinding pain ripped through his body from the nasty gash Miller had delivered.  
  
"Pay attention, Richie; stop letting me distract you," Miller instructed.  
  
"Yeah, yeah, I know," Richie mumbled dancing a little on the balls of his feet as he awaited Miller's next move.  
  
"So how was your summer?" Miller asked sending an easily defended attack Richie's way.  
  
"Lots of flying between here and Washington," Richie answered keeping his eye on Miller's blade.  
  
"So I heard. Congratulations."  
  
"For what?" Richie asked. "Oh, captain," he realized. "Thanks."  
  
"We'd better stop," Miller said. Richie stepped back but kept his blade up in case the offer was a trick. "You have classes and need to get showered first," he explained.  
  
"But first I have to make it past the guys with this," Richie indicated the blood stained rip in his pants. "You do realize that I live with five other guys now. You gotta stop doing this. I spend as much money on sweats as I do on dates now."  
  
"So keep practicing in those," Miller suggested tossing Richie a towel. "Just change into a clean pair before you go home."  
  
Richie paused for a second. "You know, that makes sense. Good idea."  
  
"Same time next week?" Miller asked as they both walked towards their cars.  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Oh, how's Mac?"  
  
Richie stopped and looked at Miller with an exasperated smile. "He's impossible."  
  
"What's that mean?" Miller asked leaning on the trunk of his car.  
  
"It's a long story."  
  
"Give me the reader's digest version."  
  
"He bought a big screen TV, N 64, and eight games and had them delivered to the team house."  
  
"Sounds expensive."  
  
"It was. He's just being nice but he has a tendency to over do it."  
  
"Really?"  
  
"Yeah, when I moved in with him. when I was 18. he bought me a whole new wardrobe, this fancy bedroom suite, a TV, stereo, tons of CDs once he found out what music I liked, and that's just scratching the surface. Then there're all the trips to Paris and wherever he just feels like I should go. This sword.I don't even want to know how expensive this is. my car, school, almost all my stuff. I don't really buy anything for myself when he's around. Like this summer we went to the mall and I stopped to look at this DVD player just to check them out because I don't know much about them 'cept they play movies on disks. I came home one night from the bar and there it was along with a bunch of movies."  
  
"Generous guy," Miller nodded.  
  
"Obnoxiously so."  
  
"He's pretty old?" he guessed.  
  
"Yeah," Richie agreed not willing to say just how old.  
  
"Sounds like he has more money than he knows what to do with and couldn't be happier to have someone to spend it on."  
  
"I guess. I wish he'd find someone else sometimes though."  
  
"Richie, there will come a day when you are glad you have him around."  
  
"It's not that I don't like having him around. it's just.Dad's kinda getting onto me about it. Letting Mac buy me stuff. He thinks it could get me into trouble."  
  
Miller raised his eyebrows. "How?"  
  
"I'm not sure. I guess he thinks someone can use it against me or something. I think the whole idea is pretty stupid, but it made me really aware of what he's been doing."  
  
"I don't think it's anything to worry about." He put his hand on Richie's shoulder. "But if starts bothering you again and you can't talk to Greg or Mac, you can always come to me."  
  
"Thanks," Richie smiled weakly. He hadn't meant to unload on Miller. The last thing he wanted was someone else deciding to take him under their wing and help him. He could take care of himself just fine if everyone would just get him the chance. "I better get cleaned up; I don't want to be late to class, Coach would kill me." They said their goodbyes and parted ways.  
  
Richie drove home, snuck his sword back into its hiding place in his closet, and got into the shower before going into the kitchen for breakfast.  
  
"Hey, Feinglod," he greeted as he sniffed at the milk. "Is this any good?"  
  
"Smells funny but tastes fine," the senior shrugged taking another bite of Cocoa Puffs.  
  
Richie got a bowl out of the cabinet. "Good enough for me," he decided pouring himself a bowl. Coug barked from the back door and Richie leaned back in his chair to let the dog in.  
  
"Where were you this morning anyway?" Feingold asked.  
  
"Out," Richie shrugged. "Why?"  
  
"I was going to see if you wanted to go to the gym with me and Monday, but you were gone before we could ask."  
  
"Oh, I was running."  
  
"Oh, maybe next time. We were kinda hoping you could show us some of those yoga things?"  
  
"Poses?" Richie asked. "Why?"  
  
"We kept hearing a lot about how good it is for your muscles and it really seems to work on you. You never stay hurt long. So we decided to try it out. And you seem to be really into it so we thought we'd ask."  
  
"Oh, sure. Whenever is fine with me. Just not Thursday mornings. it's kinda a thing with me."  
  
"Hernandez says you meditate too."  
  
"Yeah," Richie answered slowly.  
  
"Maybe you could share a few of your secrets. I can't seem to get the hang of it."  
  
"Oh, sure." Richie tried to hide his smile. He never thought he'd be such and influence on anybody. He did yoga and meditated because Mac forced him into it and now it was part of his routine. he never thought he'd have someone coming to him to ask for pointers.  
  
"Thanks."  
  
"No problem. You know next time Mac's down here, I'm sure he'd be glad to help you too. He's the one that got me into it."  
  
"That'd be great," Feingold seemed genuinely pleased with the offer.  
  
"Anytime," Richie said glancing at his watch. "I'm gonna be late!" He slurped the last of the milk out of his bowl as he got up to put it in the sink. Then he shouldered his bag and ran for the door with Coug bouncing around his legs the whole time. He glanced at his watch again as he started the car. He had fifteen minutes; he could make it. 


	22. Fatherly Advice

Richie was stuck in the shift that never ended. He could have sworn that it had been over an hour but according to his watch it had been less than twenty minutes.  
  
"What time do you have?" Richie asked the goalie of the girl's soccer team.  
  
"3:47," she answered. "Why?"  
  
"I was praying my watch had stopped. Apparently I don't go to Temple enough," he smiled at her as he went to collect an order. "Would you mind making it quick?" Richie asked handing Jeremy, one of the cooks on duty, the biggest knife he could find. "Just through the heart; try not to make a mess."  
  
"What happened?"  
  
"Time froze but the customers didn't. You got table twenty-six done?"  
  
"Two minutes. Long shift?"  
  
"I've been here since breakfast," Richie explained. "I opened and I'm still here." He reached for the hamburger Jeremy was handing over the half wall that divided the kitchen from the pick-up area.  
  
"One of the reason's I'll only have one year as captain. You guys get stuck will all the cruddy shifts."  
  
"Worse than the freshman," he agreed. "But it's the price we pay for getting it good everywhere else. Do you think in about thirty minutes if you have a lull you could pop in some cheese fries for me?" He arranged the salad and chicken fingers around the onion rings on his tray.  
  
"I thought tonight you were going to the girlfriend's house?"  
  
"I am, but I'm starving and I won't make it. I just won't change; I've gone in work stuff before."  
  
"Maybe because the only difference between your work stuff and your everyday stuff is the apron," Jeremy suggested as Richie went off to deliver the food.  
  
"Can I get you anything else?" Richie asked pleasantly clearing the table of empty sugar wrappers so he would have less to deal with later.  
  
"Ranch dressing," one girl said. "More water," added another. "How long would some fries take to get?" the third asked.  
  
"I dunno," Richie shrugged. "Five minutes? You want some?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Okay, ranch dressing, water and an order of fries. Be back in a sec." He asked another waiter who was making the rounds in their section, which neighbored Richie's, to fill their water as he went back into the kitchen to order the fries and get the ranch dressing.  
  
"Twenty-three is up," Morgan, another cook, announced when she saw him. "That's you, right?"  
  
"Yeah, thanks," Richie took the food and put it on the tray that seemed to have been glued to his hand all night. "Got any fries made?"  
  
"Sure." She put some on a plate and handed it to him. "Fresh out of the grease."  
  
"Thanks." He filled a cup with ranch and went back out to face the masses. Saturday afternoons were the busiest shift you could get. Unfortunately this particular crowd was known among the staff as being picky and lousy tippers. First Richie dropped off the extras for table twenty-six and got a request for a beer. He checked her ID insisting that even if she was in one of his classes he had to look. Dropped off table twenty-three's order and got requests for extra ketchup and more napkins before going to the bar to get the beer.  
  
"Wanna make some money?" Richie asked the bartender who was lounging behind the bar.  
  
"Busy out there?"  
  
"Hell. Looks like this is the job I want."  
  
"Come back tonight and tell me that," the bartender laughed. "But I can't complain, drunk people tip well."  
  
"Hungry people don't. Trade ya."  
  
"No thanks."  
  
"Beer," Richie announced placing it on the table. He turned around. "Ketchup, napkins. Anything else?" Relieved that for the first time that night the answer was no, Richie made the rounds to refill drinks and went back into the kitchen. "What time is it?"  
  
"4-ish," Jeremy answered.  
  
"As soon as my tables clear, I'm a free man," Richie grinned happily. "Ten minutes on the fries good for you?"  
  
"Uh." Jeremy looked at the order slips waiting for him.  
  
"You put them in, I'll take them out," Richie told him.  
  
"Yeah, that works."  
  
"Sweet."  
  
Thirty minutes later the hunger pain in Richie's stomach had lessened and he was on his way to Heather's parent's house.  
  
"We hab a dog!" Brandon announced opening the door.  
  
"You forgot to ask who it was," Richie reminded him.  
  
"Oh, yeah!" Brandon closed the door with Richie still on the porch. "Who is it?" he yelled through the door.  
  
Grinning Richie answered and Brandon once again opened the door and this time Richie went in. "Heather here yet?" he asked.  
  
"We hab a dog," Brandon repeated.  
  
"Okay," Richie drawled figuring that meant no. "Where's your dog?"  
  
"GiGi!" Courtney shrieked from around the corner. "That's so gross! Mom, she's drooling again!"  
  
Richie followed Brandon into the living room and froze in the doorway. Melinda and Courtney were wiping drool off the jowls of the largest creature Richie had ever seen. Melinda got a good look at Richie's face and hurried over to him.  
  
"You're not scared of dogs are you?" she asked in an urgent whisper, feeling amazingly guilty.  
  
"Dogs? No. What's that?"  
  
"She's a Newffie," Courtney explained.  
  
"A whatie?"  
  
"New Finland hound," Melinda clarified. "One of the largest breeds of dogs."  
  
"One of? Not THE?" Richie asked.  
  
"Maybe, I'm not sure. Great Danes might be bigger."  
  
Richie swallowed. "There's something bigger?"  
  
"Do you want me to put GiGi in the yard?" Melinda whispered.  
  
"No," Richie shook his head slightly. "Just caught me off guard that's all. I'm fine, really."  
  
Ten minutes later Heather came home and found Richie in the kitchen set to his usual task of tearing the lettuce for the salad.  
  
"Hey," she greeted him kissing his cheek in an unsuccessful attempt to distract him as she stole an olive. He slapped at her hand and otherwise ignored the theft.  
  
"I met your horse today," he told her.  
  
"We have a horse?" Heather asked smelling the gumbo simmering on the stove.  
  
"That's what I think it is," Richie shrugged. "They tell me it's a dog, but I don't believe them. Happy anniversary next week, by the way," he added. Tessa had taught him that remembering dates would be a sure-fire way to impress any girl he got serious with.  
  
Heather grinned approvingly. "You remembered."  
  
"Of course," he smiled back. "You're not working Friday are you?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Good because there's a game Thursday and Saturday so I was going to take you out then, although the technical anniversary is Wednesday."  
  
"You picked out a good one," Melinda whispered as she passed Heather. "I'm impressed," she added as she took the salad from Richie. He blushed and hid his face using the excuse of getting down the glasses to get some drinks for everyone.  
  
"So what are you two going to do for your anniversary?" Steven asked at dinner.  
  
"I'm taking her to a sleazy motel, sir," Richie said with a grin. Alex started choking on his coke. Richie tried not to laugh. "I can't tell you, it's a secret," he tried. "Heather can tell you later."  
  
"Richie, you're positively evil," Melinda said. "Can you tell me after dinner?"  
  
"And risk you blowing the secret? Not a chance!" Richie protested. "All I'll say is I hope your bride's maid's dress is clean, cause you'll need it."  
  
"Wishie?" Brandon asked after a few minutes.  
  
"Yes?" Richie inquired politely.  
  
"Can you come to my church tomowo?"  
  
"Brandon, I'm sure Richie goes to his own church Sunday mornings," Steven answered gently, hinting that it wasn't an appropriate question. "There's a little skit that his Sunday school class is putting on tomorrow."  
  
"I'll come," Richie shrugged. "I don't have any plans."  
  
"Richie, you don't have to," Melinda told him softly. "You don't have to indulge him."  
  
"I'm serious; I don't have any plans. I don't mind coming."  
  
They invited Richie to spend the night and he accepted. And because they were going to the later, more causal, service, Alex, who seemed to have forgiven Richie for whatever he had done to make him so mad, offered to let Richie borrow a shirt and he could wear his own jeans.  
  
They had discovered over the past two years that it was easier to put Brandon to bed if Richie was out of sight. So when dinner was over and it was time for Brandon's bath, Melinda nodded to her husband. A silent signal that it was time for Richie to disappear.  
  
"Richie, can I talk to you for a minute?" Steven asked opening the back door.  
  
"Um. sure," Richie said wondering what he had done to merit such a serious tone. He cast Heather a confused look who shrugged and cast a similar look at her father.  
  
"I'm not going to hurt him," Steven said rolling his eyes. "I just want to talk."  
  
Richie joined Steven on the porch swig at the older man's silent invitation. "I was just joking about the motel," Richie insisted. "If you really want to know I'm taking her-"  
  
"That's not what this is about," Steven interrupted.  
  
"Oh. What did I do?" he asked. The motel joke was the only thing he could think of to earn such a serious talking to.  
  
"It's what you said about tomorrow."  
  
"Do you not want me to come?" Richie asked. "I didn't mean to interfere. I just thought it would be fun."  
  
"You wanting to come is not what bothers me.it's that you could so easily make room for it in your schedule."  
  
Richie looked at him. "I don't understand."  
  
"I know this isn't my place; I'm not your father, but I feel I need to say something."  
  
"About what?"  
  
Steven took a deep breath. "Are you religious?"  
  
"If you mean do I believe in God, yes. If you mean do I go to services regularly, no."  
  
"Do you mind me asking what religion you practice? This has no affect on my opinion of you," he added. "You have already proved you are a very nice and caring boy. I'd just like to know."  
  
Richie thought about his answer for a minute. "Honestly, I don't really practice anything. although I guess technically I'm Jewish. Whenever I did have a religion, I was Jewish," he admitted.  
  
"When did you stop?"  
  
Richie paused again. "Um. Where to begin."  
  
"You don't have to tell me anything," Steven told him.  
  
"No. if it worries you this much, you have a right to know. I just have to think of how to put it. I've never really talked about it." Richie thought for a few seconds. "Brandon and I have a lot in common; I'm adopted. Greg is atheist, but before him I was raised Jewish," he told him. "But I haven't been to Temple in forever."  
  
"He wouldn't let you?" Steve asked trying to hide his disgust.  
  
"I refused," Richie told him. "I was eight and tired of getting passed around. I wanted to blend into the family. After awhile, Dad and my social worker talked it out and decided not to force me, that's all. I made the decision."  
  
"And you haven't been since?"  
  
"Nope."  
  
"How old are you?"  
  
"Twenty-two," Richie answered automatically not sure how the question was relevant.  
  
"Have you ever thought about going back?"  
  
"To Temple?" Richie asked cocking his head to one side. Nobody had ever got him talking about religion before; Duncan had once mentioned it to him in passing but they had never had a serious discussion about it. He seemed to trust him to make a decision when the time suited him. Richie had never complained about being taken to various services when Duncan or Tessa had deemed a certain holiday or occasion important enough and that seemed to suit Duncan just fine.  
  
"Yes, or just a church in general. Just get some religion in your life again. I assume at some point someone took you regularly."  
  
"My first foster mom did, she's the one that was Jewish."  
  
"Not your real mom?"  
  
Richie shook his head. "Long story. Suffice it to say, I don't really have a real mom."  
  
"You and Brandon have more in common than you realize, then," Steven told him. "Neither does Brandon. We actually found him."  
  
Richie raised an eyebrow. "I'll initiate him into the club," he laughed not realizing how prophetic his words would someday be. "Does he know?" he asked.  
  
"Not yet.well, he knows we're not his biological parents, just not how we came to get him. How old were you when you found out?"  
  
"Found out what?"  
  
"That you were adopted."  
  
"I was never actually adopted, I did foster homes my whole life."  
  
"Greg was the last one?"  
  
Richie smiled weakly, this conversation was getting a little too personal for his liking. "Again, long story but no. But he was as close to getting adopted I ever got," Richie explained not wanting to get into his relationship with Duncan. As far as the O'Neal's knew, he was just another foster father in a long line and a really close friend.  
  
"Did you always know that you were." Steve let the question hang in the air unfinished.  
  
"Abandoned?" Richie supplied. Steven nodded. Richie didn't like letting Steven feel sorry for him. He had learned years ago that he didn't have any parents and was therefore not abandoned, because there was never anyone there to abandon him. But unless he wanted to get into the particulars about immortals he would leave it at that he had accepted the fact and refused to think anything of it. "I was seventeen and I found out by accident. I suggest you tell Brandon whenever he asks you about his birthparents, which he will."  
  
"How should we tell him?" Steven asked glad to have someone with personal experience giving advice, even though he didn't like the idea that abandoning babies seemed to be a bit of an epidemic.  
  
"Just tell him the truth; you don't know. Ask him if he wants to know how it happened, and tell him if he says yes. Be as honest as you can. The truth sucks and it hurts, but it's better to have someone you know tell you than to read it in a file like I did." Again Richie omitted the details on exactly how he got a hold of the file not wanting to tell more than he felt obligated to. Steven seemed okay with his decision.  
  
"I was afraid you were going to say that," Steven sighed. "How do you tell someone you love, something so painful?"  
  
"You have to," Richie shrugged starting to feel awkward in his knowledge of the situation. "I have a lot of friends who all got put into the system one way or another; and the general consensus is that it's better to be told when you want to know and not have the knowledge forced on you when you're not ready. Just remind him that genetics have nothing to do with family and you still love him no matter what."  
  
"You sound a lot wiser than a mere twenty-two," Steven smiled.  
  
"I've gotten the speech a time or two," Richie admitted with a smile. "Dad and Mac seem to feel guilty about the whole thing. But he'll understand. Maybe not at first, but he will."  
  
"Am I interrupting?" Heather asked opening the back door and looking at the two serious faces deep in discussion.  
  
Steven was the first to answer. "No, we're done here I think. We were just swapping advice." He shifted his gaze to Richie. "I know we got a little side tracked, but I think it would be a good idea if you started up again," he said cryptically. "It's up to you and it's none of my business, but I think something like that can come in handy sometimes."  
  
"I'll check on campus," Richie told him sincerely. "See what the schedule is there and see if I can go and try it out again."  
  
"Is this a boys only thing or can I ask what you were talking about?" Heather asked, stepping further out onto the back porch.  
  
"Religion and adoption," Richie answered after Steven gave him a nod of consent.  
  
"Daddy!" Heather groaned. "That's none of your business!"  
  
"I know," Steven started but Richie interrupted him.  
  
"It's fine, really," he insisted. "What he said made sense and I think I needed to hear it. Nobody has ever really talked to me about it before, but I'm kinda glad he did," he said more to Steven than Heather.  
  
"Just thought I'd stick my nose in where it didn't belong," Steven joked getting up.  
  
Richie and Steven parted ways with a simple nod. Richie followed Heather to her room. Upstairs, there was a knock on Heather's door and Alex came in holding a nice polo shirt.  
  
"Here," he offered handing it to Richie. "It's the smallest one I could find; it should fit you decently."  
  
Richie smirked at the comment and took the shirt. "Thanks for the consideration," he said looking the shirt over. "I was half expecting something pink and fluffy."  
  
"I have this wonderful little baby blue number if you'd like," Alex said slipping into a stereotypical gay accent.  
  
"I think you would look nice in blue," Heather said smiling.  
  
"This will be fine, thanks," Richie answered tossing the shirt onto her desk chair.  
  
"I better not hear anything from in here," Alex said winking at Heather before he left.  
  
"Did he have any major brain surgery over the summer that I should know about?" Richie asked.  
  
Heather grinned. "He's usually like that. He just has boyfriend issues. Apparently he deemed you worthy for defending my honor last year."  
  
"Glad to know that little confrontation was good for something, I felt a bit like an ass," Richie admitted. "But a justified one," he added.  
  
"Completely," Heather agreed. "Brandon's really excited that you're coming tomorrow," she changed the subject. "I don't know what his fixation is on you, but it's really cute."  
  
Richie shrugged. "Who knows," he said oblivious to all the clues that Steven had unwittingly given him earlier.  
  
Not feeling any need to push the mystery any farther, they settled down to watch a movie and feel asleep long before it was over. 


	23. Count Down to Disaster

That Friday Richie picked up Heather at her sorority house promptly at four thirty.  
  
"Dang," Monica, one of Heather's house sisters, smiled as she opened the door.  
  
Richie shifted on the doorstep in his tux that he had asked Duncan to send down for the occasion. "Heather ready?" he asked.  
  
"Almost, come on in."  
  
'Figures,' Richie thought and took his usual seat in the common room as he waited for her to come down. Never before had he so much hated the 'no boys upstairs' rule. With twenty or so twenty something aged girls staring at him all he wanted to do was turn into a chameleon and blend in.  
  
"What's with the duds?" Monica continued. "I knew Heather was getting all dressed up. I just figured you'd be in a suit. not this."  
  
Richie shrugged. "That's what I was going for."  
  
"Richie Ryan?" Heather's voice giggled from the doorway.  
  
Richie grinned and bowed deeply as he had seen Duncan do to Tessa many times. "M'lady, will you do me the great honor of escorting me for the evening?" he asked in a surprisingly good English accent. Heather giggled again as he kissed her hand. "Is that a yes?" he asked hopefully back to using his usual boyish charm.  
  
"I'd be delighted," she answered putting Richie's accent to shame.  
  
"Good."  
  
Richie took her to see a professional performance of her favorite opera (which he had grilled Duncan about the night before so he would have something intelligent to say during intermission), then to dinner and dancing at the ritziest ballroom in the area.  
  
"How are you going to top this next year?" Heather asked as he walked her to her doorstep early the next morning.  
  
"I already have plans for next year," he assured her. The anniversary was going to be quaint and romantic. but graduation was what was going to top this night. "M'lady," he bowed again and kissed her hand. "I have never had such company and never shall again. Good night, adieu, fair the well. and blah blah blah." He slowly backed down the walk toward his car. "You coming to the game?" he called to her.  
  
"Shh! You'll wake everybody," she hissed.  
  
"Are you-" he started yell.  
  
"Yes! Shut up!" she smiled at him.  
  
"Good night, my love!"  
  
"Go away!"  
  
. . . . . .  
  
Richie was still grinning as he worked on his accounting assignment trying to get it done before the game.  
  
"Ryan?" There was a tentative knock on his bedroom door.  
  
"Yeah?" He put his pencil down and turned to face the door.  
  
"Can I talk to you?" Young, a sophomore, opened his door.  
  
Richie frowned at the boy's expression. "What's up, man?"  
  
"I need help," Young said uncomfortably. "I'm this close to dropping below Coach's grade standard."  
  
Richie nodded. He had never been in that situation, but he was still inexplicably paranoid about it. "Did you just find out?" The sophomore nodded. "What class?"  
  
"Calculus."  
  
Richie smiled slightly. "Then you came to the right guy; I'm a total math nerd." Richie inclined his head towards Young's book bag. "If you have your stuff we can get started and I'll give you a ride to the game."  
  
For the next hour, Richie and Sean Young worked on his math, making a slight improvement.  
  
"You have plenty of time," Richie reminded him as they got out of the car at the gym. "You have about half a semester to get it up. I can't promise you an A, but I can promise that I'll do everything I can to help."  
  
"Thanks, Ryan. You know, for a guy who can be a real authority hog. you're an okay captain."  
  
Richie laughed and opened the back door to the locker room. "Is that your way of telling me to take it easy in practices?"  
  
"I'm sure it's why Coach made you captain."  
  
"I like to think so. But just the same, I'll keep the complaint in mind. Try and give you guys a break. But if we start losing. I'll be a real hard- ass."  
  
. . . . . .  
  
"There he goes," Joe laughed as Richie shot across the big screen in a purple and green blur.  
  
"He's a show-off," Adam mumbled. "You should really teach the kid the meaning of the word humility, MacLeod."  
  
"Richie does just fine," Joe defended. "He's a real team player. Besides what I gather off that Coach Roberts is that he would never let anyone show off."  
  
"Look at him!" Adam protested. ESPN was showing a slow-motion replay of the Cougar's latest play. Two players one from Missouri and one from Arizona were wrestling over the ball when seemingly out of nowhere Richie slid across the floor between the pair dislodging the ball and sending it a few feet to a fellow teammate. "That's not showing off?"  
  
"That's thinking on your feet," Duncan corrected finally entering the good- natured argument.  
  
"Or, bum in this case," Adam mumbled into his beer.  
  
"You're just jealous that he finally found something he can beat you at," Joe told him with a twinkle in his eye. "Here you are, living legend and for the life of you, you can't beat a twenty-two year old at a simple game of basketball."  
  
"There's always chess," Duncan consoled with a smile. "He's not that good at strategies. yet."  
  
"Geeze, look at him go," Joe smiled proudly at the television screen. Richie and his roommate had started up a game of money in the middle with an Arizona player as the monkey. Suddenly instead of tossing the ball back to John Richie pivoted and passed it in the other direction to number 18 who made a basket. Richie and John shared a great laugh at their monkey's expense until Coach Roberts shouted something that looked suspiciously like 'Stop playing games you two!'. "I remember when he used to tag along behind you all the time. And now he's off with his own life." Joe sighed and whipped at the counter.  
  
Adam rolled his eyes. "You know it's bad enough MacLeod fancies himself the boy's father; do you really have to play the doting mother?"  
  
Duncan laughed at Joe's horrified face as Adam started imitating him. "Back when he was just a kid he would sit on my knee and I would tell him bedtime stories. But now," he sniffed and whipped and imaginary tear from his eyes. "My little boy's all grown up."  
  
"I don't sound anything like that!" Joe protested. "Just because you barely know the kid doesn't give you the right to say anything. Some of us happen to be attached to him."  
  
"Some of us made a wonderful first impression by calling the cops on him," Duncan smiled. "He told me all about that."  
  
"Oh and I suppose threatening to kill a seventeen year old out to make a buck is a great first impression, too," Joe shot back.  
  
"Straightened him out," Duncan shrugged. "A little," he added at Adam raised eyebrows.  
  
"I still say you need to stop babying him. If he wants to make it on his own, let him."  
  
"Don't start that again," Duncan rolled his eyes and turned away from the TV as the commercials started. "Richie has no problem speaking up for himself. When he wants me to leave him alone, he'll tell me."  
  
"But will you listen?" Adam challenged.  
  
"Of course."  
  
"As long as you agree with him."  
  
"Well, I admit, if I don't think he's ready I'll have a harder time of it."  
  
"Game's on," Joe interrupted.  
  
They watched the rest of the game in periodical silence.  
  
. . . . . .  
  
Richie showered and changed with the rest of the team happily chatting about their triumph over Arizona State.  
  
"Hey, Young, stay put, huh?" he suggested to the sophomore as he walked past on the way to his locker.  
  
"Why?"  
  
"I want you to talk to Coach," Richie told him stopping and turning around. "I think it would be a good idea."  
  
"Can't we see how this all pans out, first?" Young asked coming up being Richie a few minutes later.  
  
"Dude, trust me, okay? He'll be a lot cooler with you if come to him now." He smiled at the young man standing in front of him apprehensively switching his gaze from Richie to the closed office door. "He is a bit intimidating," Richie admitted. "But he admires guts and honesty. Maybe if we tag team him it might go better," he offered not wanting to insult Young unintentionally.  
  
"You think so?" Young asked obliviously relieved by the offer.  
  
"I've know the guy since I was eight," Richie told him. "I know so."  
  
Richie and Young chatted about the game as the rest of the team slowly trickled out of the locker room.  
  
"Ready?" Richie asked as he knocked on the office door.  
  
"Come in," Coach Roberts called.  
  
"Hey, Coach," Richie said opening the door. "Can we talk to you for a minute?"  
  
"Yes, take a seat, boys." They sat. "What can I help you with?"  
  
Richie looked at Young and nudged him with the toe of his sneakers. When Young didn't say anything, Richie spoke up. "He's having trouble in Calculus. He talked to his professor this week and got his current grade. He's concerned about it."  
  
Roberts looked at the younger of the two sitting in front of him. "Is this true?" He nodded. "What is your grade?"  
  
Young swallowed. "C, barely. I'm trying, Coach, honest," he added at the man's calculating look. "I'm just having trouble."  
  
Roberts shifted his gaze to Richie who showed no signs of discomfort like his younger counterpart did. "He came to me today. I was hoping we could work something out."  
  
"And what do you propose?"  
  
Richie straightened his shoulders and sat up a little taller. "He's well above your standards in all his other classes. This one just gives him trouble. So, I was thinking that maybe." Richie paused to gather his thoughts. "What if when you're doing. uh, I mean, calculating his grades for eligibility you could exclude his math. And I can help weekly. more if he needs it. and as long as he's trying and passes he could still play?"  
  
"And if he starts slacking because of his exception?"  
  
"I'll bench him," Richie said resolutely. It was a power he had never threatened to use, he tended to lean toward physical punishments making his teammates run extra laps or run extra drills.  
  
Roberts first studied Richie then Young then went to his computer. "You had trouble in math last year as well, correct."  
  
"Um," Young shifted in his seat. "Yes, sir."  
  
"And you'll meet with Ryan regularly?"  
  
"Yes, sir." Young seemed to relax a little.  
  
"And you realize that your eligibility is entirely up to your captain, now?"  
  
"Yes, sir." The two players smiled at each other.  
  
"And you're sure you'll be able to hold up your end?" Roberts asked Richie. Richie had talked him out of benching players all season.  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
"I trust you, Ryan. We'll go with your plan. It had better work."  
  
"Oh, it will," Richie assured him. "Math is my best subject. next to juvie law," he added with a sly smile.  
  
"Thank you, Coach," Young said in all sincerity standing up to shake his hand. "I won't let you down."  
  
"It's not me who'll be let down, son," Roberts returned nodding his head toward Richie.  
  
"I swear, Ryan. This is going to work."  
  
"It'd better."  
  
The two looked at Roberts waiting to be dismissed. "Young, get out of here. I want to talk to Ryan."  
  
"Thanks, man," Young said once more before hurrying out of the office.  
  
"See ya," Richie called after him.  
  
"Do you plan on striking deals for every player on the team?" Roberts asked once the door closed. Richie looked at him weighing his answers. He couldn't decide if he detected a hint of humor in the question or not. "I've only had one other captain fight to keep so many players on the court. I should have known you'd do the same." This time Richie could clearly see the smile on Roberts' face. "You're just like your father."  
  
Richie grinned and blushed at the statement. "Thank you, sir."  
  
"Well, let's just hope you'll be less trouble than he was. I'm glad you found me when you did, Richie," Roberts said once again adopting a serious tone. Richie cocked his head at the rare use of his first name. "There's a reason I made you captain. You're a great player and an even greater man. Your father raised you well. I knew you'd do anything for your team. I know it's early, but I want you to know that unless you do anything to change my mind you're captain next year, too."  
  
"Thank you," Richie said again.  
  
"But I'm not going to be here."  
  
"What?"  
  
"I'm retiring at the end of the season."  
  
"Coach, you can't!" Richie protested. "You still have some years left on you."  
  
"Richie, I've been holding out waiting for you to come play," Roberts told him. "When you're father left and lost track of you. I knew you'd come to me. I've done my part. When you were nine you said you were going to play for me and I told you some day you'd be my captain; you've done both. I broke tradition with you because I need someone to show the new guy the ropes and keep this team up to snuff when I'm gone. I trust you to do that."  
  
"You're not talking about just leaving the team are you?" Richie realized. "Coach, what's wrong?"  
  
"I have cancer, Richie. I've hid it for as long as I can. I can barely run the team now. I've been relying more and more on the captains. You have almost total control right now. You're still a student; you're busy enough without being a coach, too."  
  
"But, Coach," Richie protested.  
  
"No buts, Richie. I'm announcing it to the team before the Big Twelve."  
  
"Extra incentive to make the Final Four?"  
  
Roberts smiled. "Hopefully. You know, it's only fitting that my first Final Four victory was with your father and my last will be with you." Richie looked sadly at the only non-immortal mentor he had. The one who was leaving. "Richie, you can tell your father. But no one else. Understand?"  
  
"Yes, sir," Richie answered.  
  
. . . . . .  
  
Richie stood outside the campus Synagogue as a thin stream of students filed out after Havdallah. Taking a deep breath he went in. He quickly spotted who he was looking for.  
  
"Rabbi Gilman?" he asked tentatively stepping toward the man who looked not much older than himself.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Um, my name's Richie Ryan. and I was hoping I could maybe talk to you for a few minutes."  
  
"Of course, Richie. Come with me." He led Richie to his office. "If you don't mind me asking. Richie Ryan doesn't sound very Jewish. Why'd you come here?"  
  
"I am Jewish. kinda." Richie squirmed a little in his seat. "That's why I wanted to talk to you."  
  
"This sounds complicated," Rabbi Gilman observed.  
  
"It is," Richie answered. "That's why I need some advice." The rabbi nodded and Richie dove head long into his story omitting any immortal references. "So my girlfriend's dad gives me this talk out of nowhere and a week later Coach tells me he's leaving. which nobody's supposed to know by the way. and now. now I'm at a total loss."  
  
Rabbi Gilman smiled slightly and leaned across his desk toward Richie. "Have you ever considered that this is all happening for a reason? That maybe all this happened at once to give you a push."  
  
"Like, I'm supposed to be here.?"  
  
"Maybe because something is going happen. Richie, I think it might do you some good to come to services. It might help clear your head."  
  
"Probably," Richie agreed. "But like I said it's been fourteen years. I don't remember much."  
  
"That's okay. A lot of the students here are exploring for themselves or coming with a friend just to check it out. You'll fit right in."  
  
"There's a service Monday morning, right?" Richie asked suddenly after a near minute pause in which he had been going over his schedule.  
  
Rabbi Gilman smiled. "Shall I expect you then?"  
  
Richie smiled, too suddenly feeling significantly better. "Yeah. I'll be there. Thanks for letting me talk your ear off." He stood and shook his hand.  
  
"Anytime you need to, you know where to find me."  
  
Richie left the Synagogue with a slight spring in his step. A strange weight he had never noticed had been lifted and he felt he could face anything now. He was so absorbed in his happiness that he didn't notice the two immortals tailing him just out of range back to his car. 


	24. Uncomfortalbe Dinners

"Dad!" Richie yelled as soon as he walked through the door. It was his customary greeting to announce who he was to save the trouble of being greeted with a sword every time he came home, but now it was more a try to locate his father. "Dad!" he called again. He searched half the house before he abruptly realized that if Greg were there he would feel him. Feeling slightly stupid Richie reached for the phone and began dialing. "Hey, Dad," he said into the answering machine at Greg's office. "Um. look, nothing to freak out about, but I need to talk to you. So, if you get this before I find you, give me a call. I'm at the house." He hung up and tried the process again with Greg's cell phone and once again left a message.  
  
An hour later, Richie was in his room on his cell phone talking to Mac when the buzz hit him.  
  
"I know this seems really stupid to freak out about. hang on. Dad?" he yelled down the stairs.  
  
"Richie?"  
  
"Hey, I'll call you back okay? Yeah, it's just him," Richie replied in a teasing voice to Duncan's demand of who had shown up. "Bye."  
  
"Richie, where were you? I waited for you after the game but you never showed."  
  
A sudden surge of guilt washed over Richie. Greg had promised to take him to dinner after the game. "Oh. I, um, sorry. I got some news and had to talk to someone."  
  
"You should have told me you made other plans," Greg told him sternly.  
  
"It was sudden; my mind was totally preoccupied. I forgot."  
  
"I hear tuna and honey are good to improve your memory," he grumbled.  
  
Richie looked up at his father helplessly from his seat on his bed. "Dad, I'm sorry, alright? This is important."  
  
"What? MacLeod finally decided to let you go?"  
  
"No," Richie shot back angrily. "Coach is retiring. he's dying. He told me today after the game."  
  
"Oh," Greg's expressions significantly softened. "I'm sorry, Rich." He pulled up the chair from Richie's desk so he was sitting across from him. "These things happen, you know. He's mortal. It has to happen sooner or later."  
  
"That doesn't mean it can't bother me," Richie told him. Duncan had made it quite clear long ago that death was nothing to take lightly, mortal or otherwise. "Dad, this sucks."  
  
"Yes, it does. But moping around won't help anything. The guys on the team are going to be hit hard by this, too. You have to be strong for Roberts and them. Show them that it's nothing to be scared of."  
  
"I'm scared of dying," Richie admitted. "Aren't you?"  
  
"It's a fact of life," Greg shrugged.  
  
"So's getting dumped, but it isn't something you can just forget about."  
  
"You're comparing dying to getting dumped?"  
  
"It was the first thing that came to mind," Richie mumbled.  
  
"Well, I know what can get your mind off all this," Greg announced standing back up. "Heather's father called and they invited us to dinner tomorrow night. I checked your schedule and told them we could go. Now you can worry about what stories I'm going to tell them."  
  
"You already told Heather all my embarrassing stories," Richie insisted.  
  
Greg smiled at him. "What does Michelangelo mean to you?"  
  
"The artist?" Richie asked. Greg laughed and left the room.  
  
"Get some sleep," he called over his shoulder. "You look like hell."  
  
Laughing to himself, Richie picked up his cell phone and settled back onto his bed. "Mac? It's me."  
  
"Hey, Rich. You talk to Greg?" Duncan asked putting his book down and settling into the cushions on the couch.  
  
"Yeah, but he wasn't much help. He basically told me to suck it up."  
  
"And you don't want to," Duncan said knowingly.  
  
"I feel wrong going 'too bad for you, but I'm moving on'."  
  
"Richie, the best thing you can do is do your best for Roberts as long as he's alive."  
  
"But. I've never know someone that was dying before," Richie told him. "At least not like this. all slow and drawn out."  
  
"It's hard, Richie, but treat him normally. Let him live while he can. Don't try to ignore how you feel; just remember that you're doing something good for him by acting normal."  
  
"Thanks, Mac. Sorry to call you so late, I just needed someone to talk to and Dad didn't say the right thing."  
  
"Don't worry about it, Rich, call whenever you need to."  
  
"Thanks, Mac."  
  
"So, how's Heather?" Duncan asked changing the subject.  
  
Richie groaned. "Don't remind me."  
  
"Didn't she like the anniversary date?"  
  
"She loved it. Thanks, by the way for all the help. She was really impressed."  
  
"So why did it sound like such a sore topic when I mentioned her?"  
  
"Because you reminded me that Dad is meeting her folks tomorrow."  
  
Duncan laughed. "Greg is meeting the girlfriend's parents, eh?"  
  
"Yeah, and he's plotting against me. I know he is."  
  
"How do you know?"  
  
"He told me."  
  
"And here I thought you were being your usual paranoid self."  
  
"Very funny. You know as well as I do that I have every right to be paranoid."  
  
"Yeah, I guess you do," Duncan admitted after a short pause. "You seem to be at the center of a lot of evil plans, don't you?"  
  
"Yeah. Although, I've hit a lull. Do you think I should be worried?"  
  
"I think you should be honored."  
  
"Can't I do both?" Richie joked.  
  
"If you're feeling ambitious."  
  
"Nah, it takes too much energy to be ambitious. I'll just stick with being honored for now."  
  
"Good choice."  
  
"Hey, I better get to bed. I'm opening tomorrow, then there's practice and dinner. I'll talk to you later?"  
  
"Sure. Oh, Rich."  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"We caught the game. You looked like you were having fun."  
  
"Yeah, and I got a nice little lecture about setting a good example for the team for my troubles."  
  
"You deserved it. But good game. OU in two weeks, right?"  
  
"Yup. And nothing is going to stand in my way. I'm playing them this year, I swear."  
  
"Kick some butt. We'll be watching."  
  
Richie blushed. "Will do. Night, Mac."  
  
"Night, Rich."  
  
. . . . . .  
  
"Come on, guys! Keep up the energy!" Richie yelled from his vantage point next to Coach Roberts in the stands.  
  
"Why don't you come show us how it's done, Ryan!" Monday yelled.  
  
"I earned my seat in the bleachers!" Richie yelled back. "You just missed the play!"  
  
"Richie," Roberts said. "Why don't we cut practice short today? Ten laps then hit the showers, okay?"  
  
"Are you feeling alright, Coach?"  
  
"I'm fine. Let's just cut early."  
  
"Alright, it's your team." Richie shrugged standing up. "Alright guys!" He yelled "Ten laps, then we're out of here! Let's go!"  
  
"You must have a lot of pent up energy sitting on your butt all practice," a sophomore grumbled falling in behind Richie as they lapped the court.  
  
"What's that supposed to mean?" Richie asked.  
  
"I mean you're pretty chummy with Coach and seem to get a lot of perks because of it."  
  
"You know you have a lot of nerve for a sophomore," Richie told him. "I earned this position just like everyone before me did."  
  
"Whatever you say, man. All I'm saying is people are starting to talk."  
  
"What about?"  
  
"You and Coach."  
  
"What about us?"  
  
"That you didn't get in like everyone else."  
  
"What?!"  
  
"I just thought you should know," the sophomore told him.  
  
"Well, you tell whoever's talking that if they have something to say, then they should say it to my face because that way I can straighten them out."  
  
"Will do, Cappy." The sophomore fell back in the crowd.  
  
"Come on, guys, keep up!" Richie yelled speeding up his pace a little.  
  
. . . . . .  
  
"Hey, John, wait up!" Richie called running to catch up with him outside the locker room.  
  
"Sup, man?"  
  
"What are people saying about me and Coach?" Richie asked slowing his stride to match his.  
  
"What do you mean?" John asked.  
  
"I hear people are talking and I want to know what they are saying."  
  
"Rich." he started slowly.  
  
"Oh, man. What's the rumor?"  
  
"That you didn't get in on talent but as a favor to your dad."  
  
Richie's shoulders slumped a little. "Really?"  
  
"Yeah, sorry man. Most of us are trying to discredit the idea. I mean, look at you, you're an awesome player! It's just. some of the seniors are pissed about having a junior captain. It's supposed to be a senior gig and they feel a little gypped, you know?"  
  
"Look, I didn't ask to be captain!" Richie exploded.  
  
"I know."  
  
"It just happened. I was more than willing to wait my turn just like everyone else!"  
  
"I know, Rich."  
  
"And if they're too gutless to tell me themselves, they aren't captain material anyway!"  
  
"I know, Richie!" John nearly shouted. "You asked so I told you. People just get suspicious at someone that moves through the ranks so quickly. You've been starting since you got here."  
  
"It's not my fault I'm good. Would they rather I played dumb and passed the ball to the wrong team? It's not like I'm a ball hog. right?"  
  
"Rich, the only thing sparking these rumors is jealousy," John assured him. "Anyone that knows you knows it's not true. The underclassmen just get swayed easily. Why are you letting this get to you, anyway?"  
  
"I just have a lot on my mind." Richie mumbled. "I talked to Mac last night and now I feel like I'm being followed all the time, and Dad's planning on embarrassing me in front of Heather's parents, and someone told me this huge secret that I can't tell anyone, and I don't know. life is kinda tough all around right now. I didn't mean to blow my top. Sorry, dude."  
  
"It's cool, no worries."  
  
Richie looked at his watch. "I gotta get home and meet Dad. See you later."  
  
"Bye, Rich! And don't listen to those stupid rumors!" John called after him.  
  
"Excuse me," a tall man said politely approaching John. "Was that Richie Ryan?"  
  
"Yeah, you a ball fan?"  
  
"No, but my friend is. he keeps talking about that kid and I was wondering who he was. He doesn't look as tough as everyone makes him out to be," he added as if it were an afterthought.  
  
"Don't let his appearance fool you," John told him with a smile. "I've lived with the guy going on three years now and he's hell fire. He does all sorts of martial arts and stuff. He even fences."  
  
"Really? So do I. Maybe we can spar sometime."  
  
"If you can ever get a hold of him. He's really busy-between school, work, ball and his girlfriend; he's always got something planned."  
  
"I'm sure we can work something out. He's the captain, right?"  
  
"Yeah," John answered.  
  
"So he's at the team house, right?"  
  
"Yeah, along with five other guys."  
  
"Maybe I can leave a message for him there. It was nice talking to you." With that the stranger disappeared as quickly as he had shown up.  
  
. . . . . .  
  
"You should try the fried pickles," Heather told Richie as they settled next to each other at the restaurant.  
  
"Fried pickles? Why would you fry a pickle?" he questioned looking over the menu.  
  
"Because it's good."  
  
"I'm not trying any fried pickles," Richie insisted.  
  
"Don't be silly, of course you are," Melinda told him from across the table. "You'll like them."  
  
"That's mixing my pleasures if you ask me."  
  
"Just try one, Rich," Steven joined in. "You like okra, don't you?"  
  
"What does okra have to do with pickles?" Richie asked, trying to hide his smile.  
  
"Richie, it's not polite to argue with your hosts. Trying something new won't kill you and it's rude to act so immaturely," Greg cut in.  
  
The good natured argument stopped mid-sentence and everyone looked at Greg.  
  
"Dad," Richie hissed. "We were just." a stern fatherly look from Greg cut him off. "Yes, sir," he mumbled instead quickly hiding behind the menu to hide his quickly reddening cheeks. Heather patted his leg under the table. He had warned her that his father was really strict when the two had first met. This was her first live example of it.  
  
"So, Greg, Richie was telling us he was adopted," Melinda started trying to make small talk.  
  
"Yes, he is. But it's like he's been around forever," Greg said with a smiled. "What can I say, I love the little guy. I knew when he first showed up in my room in his Ninja Turtle pajamas crying because of the storm that I was going to keep him."  
  
"Dad!" Richie groaned in protest when Greg reached over to ruffle his hair.  
  
"That's so cute!" Heather giggled. "I can just picture it."  
  
"Oh, storms were his biggest fear. that and the dark. He had a night light until he was ten."  
  
"That's half your fault, you know," Richie shot back. "You and your weird punishments."  
  
"What happened?" Steven asked. He had already started to decide that he didn't care much for Greg Masters and the last thing he wanted to hear was that he had mistreated Richie as a child.  
  
"Richie was a huge Ninja Turtle fan," Greg started with a smile.  
  
"Oh, no," Richie groaned slumping in his chair.  
  
"What?" Heather asked.  
  
"Michelangelo," he grumbled suddenly understanding his father's warning from the previous night.  
  
"What?"  
  
"He was obsessed," Greg continued flashing Richie a smile. "He watched the show everyday, had the movies, the action figures, lunchbox, everything. But the one thing he didn't have was the turtles themselves."  
  
"Are you ready to order?" the waitress asked coming up to them.  
  
"Yes!" Richie quickly answered. "Um, I mean. Are you guys ready?"  
  
They all placed their orders and Melinda asked for a large order of fried pickles to start with. She flashed Richie a smile and he half smiled back. He was too busy being pre-embarrassed about the story that was about to be told.  
  
"So you were saying?" Heather asked.  
  
"He wanted real, live Ninja Turtles," Greg continued with a smile. "One day I went into his room to check on him because he was being really quiet. And with this guy, quiet is never a good sign; it means he's either sick or up to something. Well, this time he was up to something. I found him sitting on his bed with his finger paints to one side and a box on the other. He had a turtle in his hands and he was trying his best to coax it out of its shell. When I asked him what he was doing he explained to me. in all seriousness. that he wanted to make them the Ninja Turtles. He had three other turtles in the box and was trying to pain little masks and belts on them."  
  
Heather and Melinda burst into giggles and Steven shot an amused look at Richie, who tried his best to disappear.  
  
"What does this have to do with you being scared of the dark?" Melinda asked.  
  
"He decided to show me what the turtles felt like," Richie told her.  
  
"How did he do that?"  
  
"Go on, Rich, tell them," Greg said when Richie didn't answer.  
  
Taking a deep breath and studying his coke intently Richie answered. "He emptied a box from the garage and sat me under it in the kitchen. Every couple minutes he's poke the box and scare the crap outta me. He left me under there in the dark for fifteen minutes."  
  
"Oh, you poor thing. You must have been scared out of your mind," Heather cooed giving him a hug and kiss.  
  
"I was," Richie admitted glumly.  
  
"Heather used to wet her bed every time there was a storm," Melinda supplied. "She was scared to death of the thunder."  
  
"Melinda!" Heather shrieked.  
  
"When she was potty trained she wanted to tell everyone she saw that she could potty like a big girl," Steven added.  
  
"She used to throw cheerios in church," Melinda continued.  
  
"And ask older people if it hurt to be old."  
  
"Dad!"  
  
Richie tried not to laugh noticeably. "How about this? A truce. No more embarrassing kid stories for the rest of the night and I pick up the tab."  
  
"Deal," the parents agreed.  
  
"I like the idea of the kids taking the parents to dinner for a change," Steven smiled. "That's very kind of you to offer, Richie."  
  
"Well, I was planning on it anyway. This way there won't be a fight over the bill at the end of dinner," Richie told him as the fried pickles arrived.  
  
"Try one, Richie," Melinda smiled pushing the plate his way.  
  
"No way!" Richie protested with a smile forgetting his father's earlier warning. They always 'forced' Richie to try new things; he never did it willingly.  
  
"I'll give you a--" Heather started to bribe him but Greg interrupted.  
  
"Richie, try one," he said sternly.  
  
"Okay, geeze, I was gonna," Richie groaned taking a fried pickle slice off the plate and dunking it in the ranch dressing provided.  
  
"Mind your attitude," Greg added.  
  
"Sorry," Richie mumbled after he swallowed. He almost said it before but didn't want to get yelled at for talking with his mouth full.  
  
"What do you think?" Steven asked trying his best not to glare at Greg; he was treating Richie like a child.  
  
Richie almost answered 'They suck' like he usually did, but instead smiled and took another one. "Eh," he shrugged. "They're alright. if you like good southern cooking."  
  
The rest of the meal passed with out incident. unless you count Greg taking Richie to the bathroom to lecture him on proper dinner conversation as an incident. Richie thought he was in the clear until the dessert tray came by.  
  
"Now, Richie," Greg started with a smile. "Don't get any ideas. You're not."  
  
"Dad!" Richie interrupted a little louder than he had meant to. The teasing was getting on his nerves. The waitress stood confusedly with the tray in her hands. "Sorry," Richie apologized. "Does anyone want some? On me."  
  
To break the silence Heather ordered a piece of cheese cake to split with Richie and Steven and Melinda followed her lead. Greg ordered some apple pie before giving Richie a pointed look and promising him a little talk when they got home. When their desserts came, Greg tried to start his story again.  
  
"I was ten and he promised me thirty bucks if I took something off the dessert tray on our way out of this fancy restaurant. I took the chocolate cake," Richie beat him to the punch in a more than slightly bitter tone.  
  
"You paid him to do what?" Steven demanded having reached his limit with Greg. It seemed every couple minutes he had Richie apologizing for something or sinking uncomfortably into his chair.  
  
"I didn't think the little stinker would do it," Greg laughed. "But he did without a second of hesitation."  
  
"Of course he did it, you offered him thirty dollars!" Steven argued. "At ten, kids would do anything for thirty dollars! No wonder he did what he did! You started him!"  
  
"What are you talking about?" Greg demanded.  
  
"Dad, I told them. a long time ago," Richie admitted somewhat awkwardly.  
  
"It's any wonder he turned into the great man he did," Steven continued. "Although I understand why he's so well mannered. You know, he's an adult, I think it's time you got off his back."  
  
"Steven," Melinda hissed. "It's none of our business."  
  
"Thank you," Greg told her. "He's my son and I will raise him as I see fit."  
  
"Then maybe you need glasses; your vision seems a little off," Steven shot back.  
  
"Dad!" Richie and Heather shouted in unison.  
  
"I'm sorry, Richie," Steven apologized. "I didn't mean to loose my temper. I'm sorry if I embarrassed you. both of you," he added looking at Heather.  
  
"It's okay," Richie told him. "Don't worry about it."  
  
"Richie," Greg said. "I think it's time we paid the bill and went home. You have a game tomorrow."  
  
"Dad," Richie started to protest.  
  
"Now," Greg ordered.  
  
Richie sighed and looked apologetically at Steven and Melinda. "I'm sorry," he said. "But he's right, I do have a game tomorrow and I still have a lot of homework to do. We probably should get going."  
  
He motioned the waitress for the check and gave her the credit card Mac had given him. He planned on sending Duncan a check in the morning.  
  
"Is that MacLeod's?" Greg asked as the waitress left to run the card.  
  
"Can we talk about it later?" Richie asked. He hadn't anticipated the evening to go so badly.  
  
"You bet we will," came the cold reply.  
  
"I'll call you later?" Richie asked Heather outside the restaurant.  
  
"Yeah. I'll be at the game, too."  
  
"We all will," Steven assured him.  
  
"I'm sorry, you guys," Richie apologized again.  
  
"Richie!" Greg called from across the parking lot.  
  
"He's usually not."  
  
"Richie!"  
  
"Not like this at all. I don't ."  
  
"Richie!"  
  
"I'm coming! I'm really sorry. Don't."  
  
"Richie! Get over here!" Greg's order was clear.  
  
"I'm sorry," Richie said again.  
  
"We'll see you tomorrow. And next Friday for dinner," Melinda gave him a hug. "Don't worry about tonight."  
  
"Thanks," Richie said gratefully.  
  
"Richard Ryan!"  
  
"Oh, now I know I'm in trouble. I'll look for you tomorrow," he promised before nearly sprinting to his father.  
  
Greg lectured him on manners and respect the entire way home. 


	25. Kidnapped

Richie couldn't sleep at all that night, he was so angry. How could Greg do that to him? He wasn't a little kid anymore. He didn't need anyone to help him brush up on his manners. He didn't need anyone looming over his shoulder making sure he did everything perfectly. And he most definitely did not need anyone excusing them from the table to lecture him in the bathroom. With a sudden start, he realized he had a game the next day. or technically since it was two in the morning a game later that day and he still had a ton of homework to do. He closed his eyes and tried his best to sleep but nothing happened; he was too tense. Finally he sat up and scooted to the center of his bed. He folded his legs, straightened his back and shoulders, and rested his wrists palm upward on his knees. If he couldn't sleep, he could at least relax. He closed his eyes and pushed everything from his mind. The next thing he knew, it was almost seven.  
  
Feeling somewhat rested, he went downstairs to the kitchen. Greg wasn't there yet. He rummaged in the pantry and emerged with Cocoa Puffs and Pop Tarts. Content with his selection and feeling he was in dire need of sugar and caffeine, Richie put the food on the table before getting a bowl, coffee mug, and milk. He poured himself a cup of coffee from the fresh pot that had been brewed with the help of a timer and sat down to his meal.  
  
"Now there's a healthy choice," a voice scoffed from behind him.  
  
"Its fine," Richie tried to shrug off the condescending tone.  
  
"You have a game tonight; maybe you should try bacon and eggs."  
  
"I like cereal and Pop Tarts."  
  
"It's just going to slow you down. You need protein to keep your energy up."  
  
"I'll eat a steak for lunch and dinner."  
  
"Then it will just weigh you down."  
  
"I'm fine. I can handle it," Richie could feel his nerves being rubbed raw.  
  
"I just wish you would eat healthier, that's all."  
  
"Then stop buying me junk food!" Richie exploded not being able to take it any longer.  
  
"Excuse me?" Greg asked.  
  
"You heard me! If you don't want me to eat this stuff in front of you, stop buying it!"  
  
"I don't appreciate your tone."  
  
Richie rolled his eyes. "Don't give me that," he groaned. "Because I sure as hell didn't appreciate being made an ass of in front of my girlfriend and her parents!"  
  
"Watch your language, young man."  
  
"If you think that's bad, you should hear the other words I know," Richie said coldly staring Greg directly in the eye. "I have never been so embarrassed before in my entire life!" he continued. "A few stories, fine. But promising me one lecture after another and correcting everything I do like I'm a little kid is not cool! You made me feel like a total idiot last night! And to top it all off you had to point out that that wasn't my credit card! Nobody had to know. I'm sending Mac a check tonight and I had already asked him if I could. It was easier to take that than a hundred bucks in cash."  
  
"You left a hundred dollars?"  
  
"I figured she deserved a good tip after the way we were acting," Richie told him. "And it's none of your business how well I do or don't tip. The point is you went out of your way to embarrass me last night!"  
  
"No, I didn't," Greg insisted.  
  
"Could'a fooled me."  
  
"Richard Ryan." Greg started.  
  
"What?" Richie demanded.  
  
"Don't you ever speak to me like this again, do you understand me?"  
  
Richie contemplated his answers. "Whatever," he rolled his eyes and picked up his dishes, as only a waiter could, and carried them to the sink dumping the nearly full bowl of cereal down the drain followed by a full cup of coffee and then he dumped his Pop Tarts in the trash.  
  
"What did you say?"  
  
"I said," Richie started angrily spinning around to face his father who stood to his full imposing height of six foot two, arms crossed and glaring. Suddenly Richie didn't feel so brave.  
  
"Well?"  
  
"I said, yes, sir," Richie mumbled turning back to his dishes mentally kicking himself. He had been so close to actually getting through an entire argument without backing down. It was like it was scientifically impossible for him to stand up to his father. Not only was Greg an imposing authority figure, he was a lot bigger and stronger and Miller had told Richie repeatedly how good of a swordsman he was; for an immortal that was a very intimidating combination.  
  
When Richie finished in the kitchen he went back to his room and got dressed. As he gathered up his books and other belongings from the floor he felt his anger rising again. Not only at Greg for treating him like a kid, but at himself for letting Greg treat him like a kid. By the time he was ready to sit down to his work, he knew there was no way he was going to be able to concentrate. He took his books off his desk and put them in his bag. Shouldering his bag, Richie went down stairs and headed to the front door.  
  
"Where are you going?" Greg half asked, half demanded from his seat on the couch where he was reading the paper.  
  
"Out," Richie answered not stopping.  
  
"I thought you had homework?"  
  
"I do."  
  
"Then why do you think you have time to go out?"  
  
Richie stopped half way across the room. "Because I. I." Once again Richie's courage ran for cover. "I need my computer," he lied.  
  
"You can use mine," Greg offered.  
  
"I uh, need. some files off it. Yeah, that's it," he lied less than convincingly. "So if I wanna get it done, I gotta go." He didn't wait for an answer before turning again and leaving. "Man! I gotta get a backbone!" he yelled at himself as he slammed his fist into his steering wheel.  
  
. . . . . .  
  
"What's with you, man?" John asked as Richie came storming into the house. "Mac buy you a Lamborghini?"  
  
"No," Richie barked going straight to his room. He fell face first onto the king-sized bed and lay motionless trying to get his emotions under control. He heard someone close his door and the next thing he knew someone was shaking him awake.  
  
"Ryan, dude, game time," Feingold told him. "You been out all day; enough's enough already."  
  
"I'm up," Richie mumbled into the mattress. He took a couple seconds to fully wake up before getting up and going to the gym.  
  
They ran some pre-game warm-ups then went into the locker room to dress out for the game. Richie focused all his pent up anger on playing. For four quarters, nobody could touch him; he came out of nowhere and stole the ball, sprinted down the court with it, and scored before anyone knew what happened. He still remembered to call plays and pass the ball but if you couldn't keep up with him he wasn't going to wait for you catch up. The Cougars won 127 to 55. NYU didn't stand a chance.  
  
The entire O'Neal family was waiting for him after the game.  
  
"You were great!" Heather squealed throwing her arms around his neck.  
  
"Wrichie!" Brandon yelled throwing his arms around his thigh.  
  
"Hey, big guy," Richie smiled picking the boy up. "How are you doing?"  
  
"I'm doing very well," Brandon answered in a carefully rehearsed tone. Melinda had been teaching him manners. "How are you?"  
  
"I'm doin' great," Richie answered before turning his attention to Courtney and three of her giggling friends. All four were decked out in Somo gear. "Hey Court, who're your friends?"  
  
"Um. this is Jennie, Amanda, and Rachel," she introduced them.  
  
"Nice to meet you guys," Richie said flashing them his most killer smile. The three giggled and tried to hide behind each other.  
  
"You haven't eaten yet, have you?" Melinda asked.  
  
"Not yet."  
  
"Good, why don't you join us? We were going to take the kids out for pizza," Steven said.  
  
"I don't know." Richie blushed. "You guys look like you were doing a kinda family thing."  
  
"And you're practically family," Melinda insisted.  
  
"Come wif us, Wrichie!" Brandon insisted.  
  
"Only if you say, Richie," he told him.  
  
"Wrichie," Brandon said after taking a moment to concentrate. "No! No! Let me twy again!"  
  
Richie smiled. "You were close enough," he told him.  
  
"I wanna wriduh wif Wrichie!" Brandon announced as they all ventured into the parking lot.  
  
"Why don't you ask?" Richie suggested.  
  
"Mommy, can I please wriduh wif Wrichie? PPPPPPLLLLEEEEEEAAAAAASE?"  
  
"Is it okay with you?" Melinda asked.  
  
"Fine with me," Richie shrugged.  
  
"Okay then. But wear your seat belt and don't scream, okay?"  
  
"Okay!"  
  
Half way to Cici's, Richie's cell phone rang.  
  
"Hey, Brandon, do you want to answer it?"  
  
"Yeah!"  
  
Richie flipped the phone open and handed it back grinning at Heather. "Say 'Richie's cell phone'," he told him.  
  
"Wrichie's cell fone!"  
  
"Tell them who you are," Heather added.  
  
"I'm Bwrandon!"  
  
"Say 'with whom am I conferring?'" Richie instructed.  
  
"Wif who am I convering?" Brandon tried his best to repeat what he had been told.  
  
"Who is it?" Richie tried laughing.  
  
"He's driving," Brandon told the person on the other line oblivious to what Richie had just said. "We're going for pizza! And my mommy said if I'm good I get ice cwream for dessewt!" there was a short pause. "Okay, hang on. Wrichie, it's Mac and he says call him latewr."  
  
"Tell him I'll call him when I get home."  
  
"He'll call when he gets home," Brandon told Duncan. "Okay. Nice talking to you, too! How do I hang up?" he asked staring down at the phone.  
  
"I'll do it," Heather told him. "That was too cute," she told Richie.  
  
"I'm going to have him do my outgoing message," Richie decided.  
  
Before the evening was over Richie's greeting changed from. "Hey, it's Richie. My phone's off; leave a message and I'll call you back," to "Hi! You have wreached Wrichie's cell phone. He's not hewr to answewr it so leave a message and he'll call you back! Bye!"  
  
"See you tomorrow?" Heather asked after their good bye kiss.  
  
"Yeah. I'll pick you up after work," Richie promised before heading to his car and driving back to the team house. Usually after a game he stayed at Greg's house and just spent the weekend there. This weekend Richie didn't want anything to do with him.  
  
"Hey, Mac, it's me," Richie said when Duncan answered the phone later that night.  
  
"Hey, Rich. Was that Heather's brother earlier?"  
  
"Yeah. What's up?"  
  
"Just wanted to make sure you're okay," Duncan said. "We saw the game and everyone could tell how angry you were. Do you want to talk about it? Or did you resolve it already?"  
  
"No, it's not resolved," Richie admitted. "But I'm okay now."  
  
"What happened?"  
  
Richie relayed his story. "Mac, I have never been so embarrassed before in my entire life!" he ranted when he was done.  
  
"Never?" Duncan asked.  
  
"Remember when Tessa accidentally walked in on me right after I moved in?"  
  
"Yes." Duncan chuckled at the memory. Richie had been about to get into the shower when Tessa decided to go to the bathroom. Richie's private bathroom still needed some major cleaning so Duncan told him to use theirs. Richie hadn't been able to look Tessa in the eye for weeks after she had seen him from head to toe in the nude.  
  
"That was nothing compared to this! I'd let Tessa take pictures before I lived through last night again!"  
  
"That had to have been horrible," Duncan said fighting the urge to point out Richie must have been exaggerating.  
  
"It was! He made me out to be some pathetic looser daddy's boy!"  
  
"Richie, why don't you just stand up to him?" Duncan asked. "You have no problem telling me to mind my own business."  
  
"I just can't. every time I try to I chicken out. It's pathetic."  
  
"Rich, the sooner you let him know you have a spine, the sooner he'll stop trying to push you around. Just suck it up and say 'no'."  
  
"That's easier said than done, Mac. I try and I just can't," Richie's depression was evident in his tone. "I'm a wimp."  
  
"No, you're a. a son," Duncan had never willingly called Greg Richie's father or Richie Greg's son before.  
  
"What's that supposed to mean?" Richie asked.  
  
"It means, I couldn't stand up to my father either."  
  
"That's because he could smack you around if you were bad," Richie pointed out. Duncan had long ago told him of how different times had been when he was growing up.  
  
"Yes, but he was my father. That was what really kept me quiet. Anyone could smack me around if they caught me. but my father was the one I was scared of."  
  
"So when did you finally stand up to him?"  
  
"The first time I really defied one of his orders, I was thirty-five and he banished me from the clan."  
  
"It took you thirty-five years and you expect me to after only twenty-two?" Richie asked.  
  
"You have a lot more guts than I did back then. You have it in you. Just remember, you're not a kid and don't deserve to be treated like one."  
  
"Thanks, Mac. I'll try," Richie promised. "But I make no guarantees."  
  
"You'd be surprised what you can do. Just be your usual annoying self and it'll all fix itself."  
  
Richie laughed. "Thanks a lot, Mac. I love you, too, man."  
  
"So you feel better?" Duncan asked.  
  
"Yeah, loads. Thanks, Mac."  
  
"Anytime."  
  
"Hey, I'd better go. I have a butt load of work to do and lots of rest to catch up on if I'm gonna beat the Sooners in a couple weeks."  
  
"Richie, you have a week and a half before that game."  
  
"But, Mac, time flies around here," Richie told him.  
  
. . . . . .  
  
"You did what?!" Richie demanded.  
  
"I just wanted to see if you were making any progress so I called Miller and set up a dinner for the three of us tonight," Greg explained.  
  
"You did what!?" Richie demanded again not allowing the explanation to sink in.  
  
"I just want to see how you're improving."  
  
"That's none of your business!" he insisted. "He's my teacher. That stuff is confidential!"  
  
"He may be your teacher, but I am your father. Now go get changed for dinner. Put on something nice," he added.  
  
"I'm not." Richie started. "I'm not." he tired again. 'Just say no!' he coached himself.  
  
"You're not what?" Greg asked almost challenging him to disagree.  
  
"I'm not very hungry," Richie lied.  
  
"Then just get a salad or something. I want you there."  
  
"But I. uh-I-I."  
  
"Richie, stop stuttering," Greg groaned. "You're too old for that."  
  
'And I'm too old to be told to get progress reports, too,' Richie thought. Too bad he couldn't voice his ideas. "Sorry," he mumbled turning for the stairs.  
  
An hour later the three men, or two men and one small child as Richie felt, were seated at a table in the corner of the restaurant. Greg and Miller chatted pleasantly as Richie picked at his potato and listened. Finally he couldn't take the way they were talking about him as if he wasn't there and asked to be excused to the restroom. leaving his drink unattended. That was his first mistake.  
  
After dinner, Richie went back to Greg's house feeling more tired by the minute. He was about to crash for the night when Greg reminded him he had a game in a few days (the very anticipated OU game) and would probably benefit from the extra sleep he would get if he slept at the team house since he had to wake up nearly an hour earlier to get to class from Greg's house. Too tired to find any holes in the logic, Richie agreed and went to the team house. That was his second mistake.  
  
Richie barely made it home before his eyes refused to stay open any longer. He slept soundly through the night; grateful his early class had been canceled for the next day and he could sleep in. By the time the stranger showed up, Richie was the only one in the house and he was still fast asleep. When the buzz hit him, Richie didn't immediately wake up. He was used to other immortals being around while he slept. He had forgotten; he wasn't at Greg's. That was his third mistake.  
  
With a start he realized he was at the team house and lurched out of bed. "Dad?" he called stumbling down the hall where he was met by a stranger. It took his still half asleep body a few precious seconds to react. That was his fourth mistake.  
  
By the time Richie got back to his room to retrieve his sword from its place in his closet, the stranger was on top of him. The two wrestled for a few seconds but because the drugs were still taking their toll on Richie's system, he wasn't a match for the older and bigger immortal. The stranger hit Richie hard slamming his head into his dresser. Richie didn't fight the darkness that over took him. That was his fifth mistake.  
  
By the time John got home for lunch, Richie and the stranger were long gone. Confused because Richie's car was still in the garage John went to see if he was sick. Richie wasn't in his room. Instead, lying on his bed was a note held down by a blood stained sword.  
  
AN: PLEASE REVIEW!! PLEASE? I would like to know who all is reading this and what you think! 


	26. All Tied Up and Nowhere To Go

AN: Here you go; the new and vastly improved chapter 26. My beta is back and now the mistakes are gone! Big hugs to Lori!!!  
  
PART TWENTY-SIX  
  
Richie woke up with a groan and a throbbing headache. He had a vague memory of what happened, so wasn't too surprised when he found himself tied down. He was lying strapped to very hard table. There were straps across his chest, his stomach, his hips, his thighs, and his shins. And as if that weren't enough to keep him still, he had hospital restraints on around his wrists and ankles. Richie remained still, not wanting to attract attention yet and examined his surroundings. His table was in the far corner of a large room that reminded him somewhat of an old high school gym. In the middle of the dimly lit room was a card table with three chairs and a lamp. On the other side of that was the fourth chair from the set where his captor sat in front of a small black and white television with the sound turned down too low for Richie to hear what he was watching.  
  
"I'm bored!" Richie announced, deciding he was ready to get a look at the man who had nabbed him.  
  
"I see you're awake," his captor said getting up and going over to him.  
  
"No, I just talk in my sleep," Richie returned looking at the man as he stepped closer. He judged him to be around his father's height with Duncan's build. No wonder he had lost so quickly. He had thin black hair and stubble on his cheeks and was wearing all black. He was the stereotypical cartoon burglar.  
  
"He said you had an attitude."  
  
"He? No, no, lemme guess. You have a boss, right?"  
  
"Shut up!"  
  
Richie didn't say anything for a moment. He waited for the kidnapper to turn around before speaking again. "So, when's my dad comin'?" he asked.  
  
"He doesn't have what I want," he said turning around again.  
  
"So. Miller then."  
  
"Not him either. Teachers have no money."  
  
"Money? You called Mac?"  
  
"MacLeod should be in the Washington airport right about now. With the money in hand."  
  
Richie's jaw dropped. "Money in hand? You're holding me for ransom?"  
  
"If I have to put up with you for three days, I better get some kind of compensation."  
  
"Three days?" Richie repeated.  
  
"Those are his instructions."  
  
. . . . . .  
  
"I didn't know what to do, Coach," John said nervously from his seat in Roberts' office. "It says no cops."  
  
Roberts looked at the bloody note in his hands.  
  
'MacLeod. I have the kid. If you want to see him alive, bring fifteen million dollars with you to campus. You'll get your instructions from a new source. No police. If anyone comes looking for him early, he's dead.'  
  
"We have to call Mr. MacLeod and Greg. He needs to know as well."  
  
"What about the sword?"  
  
Roberts looked the sword over carefully. On the hilt were the engraved initials R.R. "I'll talk to Ryan about it," Roberts decided, picking up Richie's rapier and putting it in a locker before closing it.  
  
. . . . . .  
  
"Mac, what's wrong?" Joe asked as Duncan stormed into the bar before it opened.  
  
"Look!" Duncan threw a piece of paper onto the bar it was identical to the one John had found in Richie's room.  
  
Joe looked it over. "Richie?" he asked.  
  
"The kid? Campus? Who else would it be?!"  
  
"What are you yelling at me for? I didn't do it."  
  
"Why didn't Mike call when it happened? He had to have been right there!"  
  
"Mac, even watchers take breaks. He'll probably call any minute now to report on Richie's disappearance. And if it was another immortal, I'm sure we'll hear something."  
  
"Joe, read the note! Fifteen million dollars? Why would an immortal demand money?"  
  
Joe looked over the note again. Why would an immortal demand money? And why wouldn't they seek Duncan out in Washington? Why go through all the trouble to kidnap Richie in the first place?  
  
"I think you're right," Joe agreed. "I think Richie's been kidnapped for real."  
  
"It was always real, Joe," Duncan snapped.  
  
"I meant by a non-immortal. What are you going to do?"  
  
"I'm going to take the money."  
  
"And your sword?"  
  
"Of course. I have to get to the airport. Call me on my cell if Mike calls in."  
  
. . . . . .  
  
"Hey, Chuck!" Richie called across the room. "What do we do now?"  
  
"Why do you keep calling me Chuck?" the man asked.  
  
"You won't tell me your real name; I gotta call you something. what, you don't like it?"  
  
"Shut up, kid."  
  
"Well, then, fine. I'll start. Hi, nice to meet you, I'm Richie. Richie Ryan. You'll forgive me if I don't shake your hand, I'll little tied up at the moment."  
  
"Listen here, you little smart ass," Chuck yelled once again approaching Richie. "If you don't shut up real soon, I won't be held responsible for what I do to you."  
  
"Oohh. I'm scared now. What are you gonna do, call your boss and tell on me?"  
  
"I might just."  
  
"Just what?" Richie challenged. "If you think I'm remotely scared, you're in for a shock. Cause all I am right now, is bored. And I'm about to start entertaining myself. just so you have fair warning."  
  
"Look, MacLeod will be here in a couple days and if you're a good little boy after I kill him, I'll let you go."  
  
Richie pretended to think it over. "No deal. I'm bored now."  
  
"What am I supposed to do about it?"  
  
"Maybe you could go get my homework and I could do that," Richie suggested hoping to get the man away long enough to escape. "That way I won't be too far behind in my classes and I won't annoy you; everybody wins."  
  
"I'm not supposed to leave you."  
  
"Ah, the boss doesn't trust me to be good and stay quiet?"  
  
"Not boss, partner," Chuck corrected irritably.  
  
"Yeah, this is sure real 50/50. That's why you're here doing all the dirty work and he's nowhere to be seen. Face it, Chuck, you're the lackey."  
  
Chuck grabbed Richie's jaw and squeezed hard. "Shut up!"  
  
. . . . . .  
  
"Hey, Hernandez, you seen Ryan?" Young asked coming out of Richie's room. "He's supposed to help me today."  
  
"Oh, uh." John stuttered. "He had a family emergency and had to leave for a few days. He told me to help you. Sorry, I forgot to tell you. But uh, Coach called a meeting and that's where I was going. Why don't I give you a ride and we'll work afterwards."  
  
John and Young rode to the gym in silence. The gathered with the rest of the team on the bleachers and waited for Roberts to start talking.  
  
"Is that everyone?" Roberts asked looking over the faces of the young men seated in front of him.  
  
"Where's our fearless leader?" someone asked.  
  
"That's what this is about. Ryan had a family emergency and went back to Washington for a few days. So this meeting is to elect a replacement captain until he gets back."  
  
"We need a new captain for a few days?" a player asked.  
  
"We don't know how long Ryan will be gone. He may not be able to come back, so we need to be prepared. Any nominations?"  
  
. . . . . .  
  
Duncan knocked on the door in front of him. He could feel the buzz; he knew Greg was home.  
  
"Masters! It's MacLeod! We need to talk!" he yelled through the door pounding on it this time.  
  
"About this?" Greg demanded thrusting a note under Duncan's nose as he opened the door.  
  
Duncan looked it over.  
  
'Masters, I have your son. You want him back; you make sure MacLeod brings fifteen million in cash to the old high school on the 29th, not a day sooner. No police. Anyone shows early, your little boy is dead.'  
  
"You got one, too," he said handing it back.  
  
"Yes, I got one, too!" Greg spat. "What have you done to my son!" he demanded.  
  
"I think this would be better discussed inside," Duncan said.  
  
"Get in." Greg opened the door.  
  
Duncan stepped in. "We need to figure out who did this," he said taking a seat on the couch and looking directly at Greg in the easy chair across from him.  
  
"Obviously someone after you," Greg said. "The way I found out about this is one of Richie's friends found a ransom note in Richie's room on his bed and it was covered in blood. I got this two hours ago." He gestured to the note.  
  
"Which one of Richie's friends?" Duncan asked.  
  
"I don't know, some Hispanic kid, good sized, shaggy hair. On the team."  
  
"John Hernandez?" Duncan supplied.  
  
"Maybe, his old roommate."  
  
"That's John. We need to talk to him. Did he tell anyone else?"  
  
"Roberts knows. That's it; the four of us."  
  
"And Richie and the kidnapper. It doesn't make any sense; Richie should have been able to defend himself. There's no reason he should have gotten caught."  
  
"Maybe he was asleep," Greg suggested.  
  
"When did John find the note?"  
  
"Afternoon. But you know teenagers; they'd sleep all day if they could."  
  
"He's not a teenager anymore. And even if he was, Richie doesn't sleep past nine. He hasn't for years. That means they over powered him."  
  
"Maybe they threatened him with a gun," Greg speculated. "I mean, this can't involve an immortal if they're demanding money."  
  
"A gun wouldn't have stopped Richie. He would have fought. He's good Masters, he can disarm anybody." Duncan paused to think. "The only thing that would have stopped him was if the other guy had a sword and he wasn't armed. That's the only thing he can't do. He gets nervous and messes up."  
  
"I thought you were his teacher."  
  
"I was; he's with you now. Don't you train him?"  
  
Greg shook his head. "Miller does. I'm just his father."  
  
"This has to be another immortal," Duncan decided. "That's the only way."  
  
"An immortal demanding ransom? MacLeod, there's no way. I knew all your little gifts would get him in trouble one day! Somebody's after money and my son is their ticket! This is your fault!" Greg yelled.  
  
"My fault? I'm half way across the country; you're a few miles down the road and this is my fault?" Duncan yelled back. "You keep saying he's your son, why don't you do something for him? If you hadn't abandoned him, he wouldn't be in this situation! All you want from him is to re-live your glory days on the court! You know what I want from him? I want to see him get old, I want to see him outlive everyone; I want him to be the one. I'm the one that's been protecting him for the last five years, I'm the one who taught him to survive, I'm the one that sent him here, I'm the one that's always been there for him. Who are you? A man that hides behind a title that you never earned. I bet you told him to call you 'dad' didn't you?"  
  
"It makes no difference how I became his father, MacLeod," Greg snarled. "I am. I won. He chose me over you. You're just his meal ticket."  
  
Duncan jumped to his feet and drew his katana. "The only reason I don't kill you now is I might need your help to rescue my best friend," he said in a low voice. "I have never trusted you and I never will. I know you want something from him. I just don't know what it is yet."  
  
"If you take my head, he'll never forgive you," Greg said smugly. "You kill me, you loose him."  
  
"I know; that's why I haven't killed you before." Duncan put his sword away. "I have a preposition for you," he told Greg. "I think we should agree to hate each other in private. The last thing Richie needs is us fighting over him. So, we play nice. I don't go after you; you don't come after me. We set our differences aside and figure out what happened to Richie. We work out a plan and rescue him."  
  
"Sounds reasonable."  
  
"From here on out, we make nice."  
  
"I'll do it. for Richie."  
  
"Good. So what do we really know about what happened?"  
  
. . . . . .  
  
"No bottles of beer on the wall, no bottles of beer!" Richie sang just loud enough to be heard by Chuck.  
  
"Would you shut up!!!" Chuck had been trying to push Richie's voice to the back of his mind all day. Now he had had enough.  
  
"Take. you made me loose count," Richie complained. "Oh, well. 99 bottles of beer."  
  
"Stop with the beer song!"  
  
"I can't help it, I'm bored and thirsty... and hungry."  
  
"Maybe if you'd stop singing, you wouldn't be so thirsty," Chuck suggested.  
  
"Maybe, but I can't help myself. I was born to entertain. 99 bottles of."  
  
"No more beer!"  
  
"Milk then? Coke? Juice? What? You pick," he offered.  
  
"If you start that song one more time I don't care what M." Chuck stopped suddenly. "I don't care what anyone says. The no hurting the kid rule is going out the window."  
  
"Fine, geeze." Richie let the room fall silent as he thought of other songs to sing. "I'm Henry the eight I am, Henry the eighth I am, I am. I got married to the widow next door; she's been married seven times before and every one was an Henmmmmph!" He was cut off when Chuck clamped his hand over his mouth.  
  
"Shut up, you little prick," he said slowly. "No beer, no Henry the eighth, got it?" Richie nodded. "Good." He let Richie go and walked away.  
  
Richie waited for him to get settled and comfortable before starting up again. "We all live in a yellow submarine, yellow submarine, yellow submarine. We all live in a yellow submarinnnmmmmph!" Chuck was back by his side with his hand over his mouth.  
  
"That's it. Torture time."  
  
"Do your worst," Richie challenged once the hand was removed.  
  
"I will. See, I know you," Chuck started getting a roll of duct tape off the card table. "I know what you like and don't like." He ripped off a piece and put it over Richie's mouth. "You hate staying quiet and still. And you love to eat." He went back to the table and reached under it, picking up a cooler. He got out a sandwich and unwrapped it before going back to loom above Richie. "See, I was going to give you one," he said taking a big bite. "But now I think I'll eat yours too."  
  
Richie looked up at him in disbelief. By his calculations it had been nearly twenty-four hours since he had last eaten and he was starving. By the smell, he could tell it was a meatball sandwich he had just deprived himself of. His suspicions were confirmed when a large glob of marinara sauce began to drip from the bread.  
  
"I guess you can have some. if you say please," Chuck decided.  
  
"Pmmp!" Richie said as best he could.  
  
"That didn't sound like please to me," Chuck laughed stuffing the last of the food into his mouth. "Oh, well. Maybe you can eat tomorrow. if you're good." 


	27. Potty

AN: Wahoo! N&I chap 27! Cyber yummies for Lori!  
  
PART TWENTY-SEVEN  
  
Sometime during what Richie guessed was the night he fell asleep. He woke up and panicked at his current situation before he remembered everything. He was still gagged and tied to the table. Sighing through his nose, he turned his head and found Chuck asleep in a cot he hadn't noticed before. He thought hard for something to do to annoy the other man. He had long ago taken to annoying his kidnapper in revenge for disrupting his schedule. He couldn't sing anymore because of the tape, he couldn't rock the table back and forth like he could a chair, and he couldn't glare at Chuck because he could barely see where he was.  
  
Richie sighed again and pulled at the restrains around his wrists. He had very little movement, the same with his feet. He tried to move any part of his body to little or no avail. He had never so desperately wanted to do homework before. At a loss for what to do, Richie remained still and quite. Subconsciously he started shaking his feet. He didn't notice until the toes of his sneakers came together making a slightly satisfying tap! He tapped his toes together again and the noise was a little louder. Shrugging as best he could, he began to hit his toes together rhythmically until Chuck woke up.  
  
"What the hell do you want?" he demanded ripping the tape off. "It's five in the morning!"  
  
"Like I know what time it is," Richie grumbled.  
  
"What do you want?"  
  
"I have to go to the bathroom," he answered. He really didn't, after all he hadn't had anything to eat or drink in over twenty-four hours. but it seemed like the right thing to say.  
  
"You're kidding right?"  
  
"No," he lied.  
  
"Stay there," Chuck ordered moving away.  
  
"Like I have an option!" Richie yelled after him. A few seconds later, Chuck returned holding an empty beer bottle. Richie looked at him for a second as if he were crazy. "That's not gonna help anything," he told him. "I can't aim what I have to do."  
  
"Then hold it in."  
  
"I have all night! I really gotta go! Look I swear I won't run away or anything. I just gotta take a dump."  
  
"Fine," Chuck groaned moving away again. He came back with a length of rope and a black piece of cloth. He unbuckled the restraint around Richie's right wrist and then tied the rope around it. Then he unbuckled the other restraint. He reached for the strap across Richie's chest then thought better of it. He stopped what he was doing and re-buckled the restraint on Richie's left wrist.  
  
"See you're supposed to be taking them off," Richie explained. "That way I can."  
  
"Shut up!" Chuck barked. He got his sword and laid it on the table to Richie's left. "You try anything funny and I'm killing you, you got it?"  
  
"Wasn't planing on it, but sir, yes, sir!" Richie replied.  
  
Chuck once again moved to undo the strap across Richie's chest, which he did. He held tightly onto the rope around Richie's right wrist as he undid the strap across his stomach. "Sit up," he ordered. With some difficulty Richie managed.  
  
Chuck then pulled Richie's right hand behind his back then his left after unbuckling the restraint. He tied his hands together then blindfolded him. Richie didn't protest, figuring he could escape later. He felt the restraints removed from his ankles. Then the straps were removed starting with the one around his shins until he was seatbelted to the table. Richie felt the blade of Chuck's sword up against his throat at the same time the final strap was removed.  
  
"Get moving," Chuck ordered pushing Richie off the table. Somehow Richie managed to land on his feet. Chuck moved behind him grasping the back of his shirt with one hand and holding his sword to his throat with the other. He led Richie out of the room and down a hallway, turned him left then shoved him into another room.  
  
By the way their footsteps echoed, Richie guessed they were in a bathroom. "So, now what?" he asked.  
  
The sword was removed from his throat and hands began unbuttoning his pants. Richie tried not to blush as his pants were pulled down to his ankles. Chuck pushed him onto the toilet.  
  
"Now you go," Chuck told him.  
  
. . . . . .  
  
"So you came in here." Duncan prompted John who had been excused from practice so he could walk Duncan and Greg through the afternoon he found the note.  
  
"Because Richie's car was still here and usually I'm the only one here on Thursdays for lunch. I figured he was sick or something," John explained.  
  
"And that's when you found the note," Greg finished.  
  
"Yeah, it was on his bed with a sword."  
  
"A sword?" Duncan repeated looking at Greg who returned his slightly panicked look.  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Can you describe it?"  
  
"Yeah it was a Spanish Rapier," John answered. "It was really weird because my history professor had shown us one just like it in class a few weeks ago."  
  
"Who's your professor?" Duncan asked, although he had a feeling he already knew the answer.  
  
"Miller. um, Simon I think."  
  
"Simon Miller," Greg repeated looking at Duncan.  
  
"Yeah, why?"  
  
"I just want to see where he got it, maybe the dealer has sold more than one in this area," Duncan lied. "Is there anything else you remember?"  
  
"No," John shook his head. "I read the note and went straight to Coach."  
  
"What happened then?"  
  
"He called you guys. And we decided to tell the team Richie had a family emergency and would be gone for a while. maybe not coming back. He is coming back, though, right?"  
  
"Of course. You'll have your captain back soon. Safe and sound."  
  
"Are you sure you won't call the cops?"  
  
"It says no cops," Duncan said. "Besides I used to work special ops; I've done this dozens of times. And Greg here, well, he's quite the fighter. Between the two of us, Richie's going to be fine. Do you know where the sword is now?"  
  
"Coach has it. He wants to talk to Richie about it."  
  
"Okay, thanks, John, you've been a lot of help," Duncan said turning to leave. "I'm sorry this happened, but I'm glad Richie has a friend like you watching his back," he added.  
  
"You tell Richie, I hope he never has to return the favor."  
  
"You tell him," Greg told John before following Duncan to the car. They got in and Greg headed toward campus. "Is it true?" he asked softly.  
  
"What?"  
  
"What you told that boy about having done this dozens of times."  
  
"Yes. Granted they've accumulated over the years, but Richie is going to be fine. He knows there's nothing to worry about. He won't do anything stupid."  
  
. . . . . . .  
  
It took Richie nearly three minutes of hard concentration to get anything to come out, but he did it. When he finished, he sat still and wondered what he was supposed to do next. Surely Chuck wasn't going to wipe his butt for him, but he wasn't about to let him put his pants back on with out someone doing it.  
  
"You done in there?" Chuck called from behind what Richie guessed was the stall door.  
  
"Um. I've done all I can do," Richie answered.  
  
"Good get up."  
  
"Um, I'd like to kinda clean up first."  
  
There was a pause then, "Fine."  
  
Richie was taken out of the stall, pants still around his ankles, and a piece of toilet paper was put in one of his hands. The blade was once again pressed to his throat and his hands were untied.  
  
"Make it quick."  
  
Richie did his job then dutifully shoved the dirty paper in Chuck's direction. "I'd do it, but I can't see," he explained in a smug tone.  
  
"Oh, for pete's sake," Chuck groaned grabbing Richie's wrists. He pulled him a few steps backward. "Let go." Richie did and a moment later the toilet was flushed. He was allowed to pull up his own pants.  
  
"Um." Richie interrupted when Chuck started to tie his hands again.  
  
"Lemme guess, you wanna wash your hands, right?"  
  
"Well, yeah," Richie answered. Chuck grabbed his wrist again and placed his hands on the faucets.  
  
"You know," Richie said as he washed his hands. "This would be a lot easier on the both of us if you would just take the blindfold off."  
  
"Shut up!"  
  
"Is there any soap?" Richie asked. Usually washing his hands never crossed his mind and if he ever thought about it, soap was never involved. Mortal or immortal hygiene was never his strong suit.  
  
"Oh, give me a break," Chuck snapped grabbing his wrists and tying his hands behind his back again.  
  
. . . . . .  
  
"So what should we do about Richie's sword?" Greg asked as he turned onto the street that led to the main entry of the university. "Tell him to say he'd never seen it before?"  
  
"It has his initials on it. Not to mention his finger prints."  
  
"You had it engraved?" Greg asked accusingly.  
  
"Of course, it was a gift," Duncan defended. "And I was busy trying to make sure he knew I wasn't going to let him face this by himself. He has abandonment issues for some reason."  
  
"My fault, right?" Greg shot back.  
  
"I was just making an observation," Duncan said innocently. "Maybe he has an idea."  
  
"So we don't confront Roberts about it? Don't you think that would look a little odd?"  
  
"Good point," he consented. "Can we tell him it's Richie's?"  
  
"Roberts would kick him off the team for keeping a weapon in the team house."  
  
"So it's not Richie's and we've never seen it before."  
  
"What about the initials?"  
  
Duncan shrugged. "How many people are out there with the initials R.R.? Who knows how old the engraving is?"  
  
"That's our story and we're sticking to it, huh?"  
  
"What else can we do? John knows he fences but doesn't know he has his own sword."  
  
"Richie's never going to get his sword back this way," Greg pointed out.  
  
"I'll get him a new one."  
  
"What if we say it was a gift?"  
  
"It was," Duncan pointed out.  
  
"No, listen. He made some fencing team that he tried out for this summer, you got the letter, and sent him the sword," Greg suggested. "It arrived Thursday morning; he called me to tell me the news, and got kidnapped before he could bring it to my house where he was going to keep it."  
  
"You know, that could work. It's plausible and as long as all three of us tell the same story. that's a good idea," Duncan admitted. "That way Richie gets his sword back and it's my fault it was in the house."  
  
. . . . . .  
  
Richie was strapped back down to the table reverse of how he had been released. The blindfold was removed once he was secured.  
  
"Feel better?"  
  
"As much as I can," Richie replied. "So onto day two, huh? What's on schedule for today?"  
  
"You keep quiet and don't bother me," Chuck said. "And if you're good, you get dinner and I'll let you listen to the game."  
  
"The game?" Richie repeated. "The OU game! I'm gonna miss it! You gotta be kidding me! Please man, I gotta play! I'll come back I swear! You can come with me. Sit on the bench and everything; I'll never be out of your sight! Please!"  
  
"No. And if you keep this up you don't get to listen to it either. Not to mention I had no problem eating your dinner last night and am more than willing to do it again."  
  
Completely crestfallen Richie looked away. "Fine," he finally answered. Listening to it was better than nothing. Richie fought the urge to sing and tell bad jokes for the rest of the day.  
  
Finally six thirty rolled around and he was blindfolded and tied up again. Chuck led him to the card table and sat him in one of the chairs. After threats of beheading his hands were untied. His ankles tied to the legs of the chair and his right hand to the back. He sat patiently wondering what was going to happen next. Chuck moved around for a few minutes before speaking to him.  
  
"Food," he said putting Richie's hand on what felt like another meatball sandwich and some chips. "Drink," he put his hand around the neck of a bottle of beer. "You sit here and be quiet and listen. You try anything, taking the blindfold off, untying yourself, deal's off. You're back where you started no food, no drink, no game, no trips to the bathroom, got it?"  
  
"Yeah," Richie answered. "You know, I'm right handed. I'd be less likely to spill if you tied my other hand."  
  
"You want me to tie both?" Chuck snapped.  
  
"I've always wanted to be ambidextrous," Richie mumbled closing his fingers around the sandwich. He ate and listened to the first quarter of the game. He saved his beer for the second quarter. At half time the announcers started talking about him.  
  
"Ryan was called away for a family emergency earlier this week and is expected back in Missouri sometime this week," one said.  
  
"His team seems to be doing fine without him," another added. Chuck laughed at Richie's gaping expression. "They're beating OU 36 to 29."  
  
"But imagine what the score would be with Ryan's three pointers," the first reminded the other. "Remember the NYU game? He's on fire this season." Richie made a smug told you so noise into his beer as he downed the last of it.  
  
"That he is," the second agreed. "But he has nothing to worry about. Monday is taking great care of his team in his absence."  
  
"Monday?" Richie repeated in his head.  
  
"Coach Roberts had the team elect a replacement captain until Ryan can get back," the first announcer explained as if he had read Richie's mind. "The optimistic timeline has Ryan back in time for the Oklahoma State game next week. But apparently there is no definite date set for his return."  
  
"Speaking of returning." the second interrupted. "Halftime is over and we're back to the court for the third quarter of this exciting game."  
  
Richie listened to the third quarter quietly with nothing to do but sit. He had finished his food and beer. A couple minutes into the fourth quarter, Chuck put another beer in his hand. Richie didn't question the offering and started drinking it as well. After the game, Chuck untied him and led him back to the bathroom. He left Richie's hands untied but made him keep the blindfold on; Richie wasn't sure why but he didn't question him. When he was done he was taken back to the room and tied once again to the table where he fell into an uncomfortable sleep. 


	28. Rescued!

Richie woke up without an attempt at stretching. He had one day left, then Duncan would come kill Chuck and life could go back to normal. After what Richie judged was twenty minutes of no speaking, he decided to say something,  
  
"Marco!" he called into the room.  
  
"What the hell do you want, now?"  
  
"You're supposed to say 'Polo'," Richie complained. "I'm bored and I have to go to."  
  
"I don't care," Chuck interrupted. "Today, you're stuck. So shut up and stay off my nerves."  
  
"Testy!" Richie scoffed.  
  
Without warning, Chuck backhanded him. "You know what? I'm really sick of you and all your little jokes! So shut up before I make you! Do you understand?"  
  
"Why does everyone always ask if I." Richie cut off as he heard duct tape being pulled off the roll. "Fine, I'll shut up!" he insisted quickly.  
  
. . . . . .  
  
"We go in at midnight," Duncan decided. "I go in, get the kidnapper away from Richie, then you go get him. Simple as that. In and out in ten minutes."  
  
"What about the money?" Greg asked.  
  
"I have it and I'll take it. If worse comes to worse, they get the money and you get Richie."  
  
"Do you think it's going to come to that?"  
  
"Probably not, but there's always the possibility. This guy has to be above average to get Richie, he's a tough fighter. I tried to kidnap him once for a surprise party and it didn't go over well," Duncan smiled at the memory.  
  
"What happened?"  
  
"I ended up with a black eye, a bloody nose and a broken foot. Then I had to explain what I was trying to do."  
  
"So you ruined the surprise?" Greg asked with a hint of superiority.  
  
"I told him it was a test, he passed, and did he want to go for a beer. Took him to the bar and. surprise!"  
  
"So now what?" Greg got up to refill his coffee. "We have a plan for what we do now?"  
  
"We go to the store," Duncan said.  
  
"The store?" Greg repeated.  
  
"Richie has a. a routine when he comes home."  
  
"This has happened often enough to develop a routine!" Greg fumed. "Do you not take care of him?!"  
  
"I took care of him," Duncan countered. "Now it's your job. And it's only happened a couple times."  
  
"So what do we need for this little routine of his?"  
  
"Sourdough bread, bacon, cheese, ground beef, potatoes, lots of ketchup and lots of hot sauce." Duncan ticked each item off on his fingers.  
  
. . . . . .  
  
"Hello?" John answered the phone at the team house.  
  
"Hey, John, is Richie home yet?" Heather's voice asked.  
  
"No, not yet. Any day now, though."  
  
"I'm getting a little worried, he hasn't called at all."  
  
"I'm sure he's fine," John said in what he hoped was an assuring voice. "Just caught up in stuff. I'll have him call as soon as he can," he added.  
  
"Thanks," Heather replied. "I don't mean to be such a pain. this just isn't like him."  
  
"Don't worry about it. I'll see you later, okay?"  
  
"Thanks, John. Bye."  
  
"Bye."  
  
. . . . . .  
  
Richie was very hungry and thirsty and to top it all off, his bladder felt like it was going to explode any minute now. He had spent nearly the entire day in self-imposed silence. Every hour or so, he would get the over whelming urge to scream out something random or start singing, or starting up some stand up routine, but he continually fought the urges hoping that he would get some reward for behaving. Finally, just as Richie was about to drift off to sleep for lack of anything better to do, the reward came in the form of a beer. His dry mouth and throat gladly accepted the moisture while his bladder started a count down to forced liquid evacuation procedure number three. wetting his pants.  
  
"Look," Richie pleaded. "I really gotta go."  
  
"I don't care."  
  
"You will when I go anyway," Richie assured him. "It's gonna smell like a litter box in here."  
  
Five minutes later, Richie was standing in the bathroom stall, blindfolded and hands tied. At least this time, his hands were in front of him. "It's not my fault if I miss," Richie announced, relieving the pressure on his bladder. To his surprise, it at least sounded like it was a direct hit.  
  
After he was finished, he was led back to his table and secured down. The blindfold was left on this time. Once again, Richie didn't question the decision and went back to fighting the urge to speak. A phone rang, startling both of them. Richie had never noticed a phone in the room before. But then again, all he could comfortably notice was the ceiling right above him.  
  
"Yeah?" Chuck answered. "He's worse than you told me. Yeah I fed him; don't know why you wanted me to though. All it did was give him energy to be annoying. when? Okay, fine. yeah, I'll take care of him. You have nothing to worry about. I just want my money." He hung up. "Guess what kid, at midnight, you're going to be liberated."  
  
"Finally," Richie mumbled. He felt the top two straps being undone. Then Chuck yanked him into a sitting position.  
  
"Drink up, kid."  
  
"What is it?" Richie asked pulling away as something touched his lips.  
  
"A beer. This is my last offer. Take it."  
  
The bottle was put to Richie's lips again. He was thirsty and his bladder could hold one beer for a while. Richie decided to take it. That was the last thing he remembered doing.  
  
. . . . . .  
  
At midnight, Duncan walked through the doors of the old high school; bag of money in hand. "Hello?" he called into the empty building. The school was huge and there was no telling where Richie had been hidden. He began to walk the corridors waiting for a familiar buzz to hit him. Halfway down a hall of science labs, he got the buzz. He drew his sword and approached the other immortal.  
  
"I am Duncan MacLeod of the clan MacLeod," he announced. "And I want my friend back."  
  
"I am Michael Plattman of Virginia, originally," the other immortal answered. "And I want my money."  
  
"Here, take it," Duncan tossed him the bag. "Where's Richie?"  
  
"He's fine. Don't worry; I promise to let him go once I'm done with you." Michael put the bag down and started toward Duncan, sword at the ready.  
  
. . . . . .  
  
As soon as Duncan was out of the car, Greg drove around the school to sense Richie's buzz. He drove directly to the side of the school with the gym and pulled to a stop. He got out of the car and went in through the back door. Richie was passed out, secured to a table and blindfolded. He walked over to him.  
  
"Rich?" he asked shaking him gently. "Richie, wake up." Richie didn't respond at all. "Prefect." He felt the buzz of another immortal approaching at the same time he heard Duncan announce his arrival to Michael. "Miller, just in time," Greg smiled pulling a gun out of his waist band.  
  
"What are doing?" Miller asked pulling his sword.  
  
"Saving my son," Greg answered. "You kidnapped him."  
  
"What are you talking about? I got challenged by some guy earlier today."  
  
"How convenient."  
  
"Greg, I have no quarrel with you or your son," Miller insisted, inching his way toward Greg and the gun.  
  
"You leave my son out of this," Greg told him. "This is between me and you." He fired the gun twice; each bullet piercing Miller's skull. Once the professor had fallen to the ground, Greg took out his sword and took his opponent's head.  
  
. . . . . .  
  
Two gun shots echoed through the empty school. Duncan swallowed hard and concentrated on fighting Plattman. He deflected two blows aimed for his kneecaps and responded with a flurry of tightly maneuvered counter attacks, driving Plattman back down the hall. He fought to keep his concentration as the stillness of a quickening enveloped the school. The flashing lights momentarily distracted Plattman long enough for Duncan to get in the final blow.  
  
. . . . . .  
  
As soon as the quickening was over, Greg went to Richie's side. He slowly began to take the straps off. He heard foot steps running towards them and began to work faster.  
  
"Richie!" he called to the unconscious boy. "Rich, wake up!"  
  
"Masters?" Duncan asked pausing momentarily in the doorway. "Is he okay?"  
  
"He's out of it, but he's in one piece."  
  
"What happened in here?" Duncan asked moving to help with the bindings. "Who died?"  
  
"Miller."  
  
"Miller?"  
  
"He was in here when I got here. He was going to kill him. I didn't have a choice."  
  
"I guess not. Who got shot?"  
  
"He did. He had a gun and was going to shoot me, take Richie's head, then mine. We fought over the gun and I got it."  
  
They finished unfastening the straps and restraints and untied the blindfold. They both started for a minute at the still young man lying before them.  
  
"Only one thing to do," Duncan shrugged. He reached down and hoisted Richie into his arms. "Where did you park?"  
  
Greg showed him the way then when back to get the money while Duncan settled Richie in the backseat. He returned to the car with the bag in hand. Richie was lying across the back seat tucked under Duncan's over coat. When they got to Greg's house, Duncan volunteered to carry Richie to his room. Halfway up the stairs, Richie started to wake up.  
  
"Put me down," he protested sleepily, starting to squirm a little.  
  
"Go back to sleep, Rich," Duncan whispered and Richie's movements stopped. He took him into his room and put him on the bed. He took off Richie's shoes and socks silently but when he moved to his jeans and t-shirt he spoke to him so he wouldn't fight it. "You need to shave," he added at the end, running a finger over the stubble that was quickly becoming a beard. "Then come down for some food."  
  
Two hours later, Duncan and Greg were in the living room reading the paper and ignoring each other when a soft thump sounded above them, followed by footsteps. A few seconds later, a rumble of footsteps made the ceiling fan shake.  
  
Duncan chuckled. "He almost fell," he explained when Greg shot him a questioning look. "Guess I'd better get breakfast ready." He got up and went into the kitchen with Greg at his heels.  
  
"We'd better get breakfast ready," Greg corrected.  
  
Twenty minutes later, Richie stumbled down the stairs cleaned up and dressed in boxers and a t-shirt. He plopped down at the table and rested his head on his folded arms.  
  
"Still a little drugged, I see," Duncan laughed transferring the hash browns from the pan to a plate. "Not too tired to eat are you?"  
  
Richie sat up and smiled. "I'm never too anything to eat." He yawned and stretched narrowly missing the plate with his burger and hashbrowns on it. "Oh! Sorry," he apologized, leaning away to finish his stretch.  
  
"How are you feeling?" Greg asked sitting next to him.  
  
"I'll tell you once my brain starts to function," Richie assured him picking up his bacon cheeseburger. Richie made short work of the burger and moved onto the hash browns, smothering them first in ketchup and hot sauce. He gulped three cups of coffee before Duncan deemed him awake enough to answer some questions.  
  
"So, what happened?" he asked.  
  
"Honestly?" Richie asked leaning back in his chair. "You're gonna hate me."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"I don't remember much."  
  
"Well, what do you remember?" Greg practically demanded.  
  
"Dinner with you and Miller, then I woke up at the team house and there was this guy there. I tried to fight him off but I was still doped up. I went down pretty fast. Then I woke up in that gym or wherever."  
  
"High School," Duncan supplied.  
  
"I thought I smelled stale torture," Richie smiled. "Had the worst couple days of my life, then I woke up here. Man, I'm telling ya, not knowing if you're gonna wake up where you went to sleep is pretty damn annoying."  
  
"Watch your language," Greg warned as Duncan laughed. "Must be."  
  
"Anyway," Richie continued casting Greg a look. "I take it everything went down okay?"  
  
"We got them," Duncan nodded.  
  
"Them? Who was the other guy?"  
  
"Which guy did you see?"  
  
"Chuck."  
  
"Who?"  
  
"The guy with the stubble, all black, bad breath, yellow teeth." Richie described. "The guy who nabbed me," he tried.  
  
"Michael Plattman," Duncan corrected him. "I took care of him. Do you know who he was working with?"  
  
"I have a theory."  
  
"Which is?"  
  
"Miller. The way I figure it, something was slipped into my food or drink while I was at dinner. The only immortals there were Dad and Miller. I mean, besides you two, he's the guy here who knows me best. I talked to him all the time."  
  
"You trusted him and he used you," Greg said. "You have to be careful, Richie."  
  
"I was!" Richie protested. "He's harmless. unless he's the guy behind this."  
  
"He was," Greg told him. "He was going to kill you, kill Plattman, and take the money. He just didn't expect me to show up."  
  
"You killed Miller?" Richie asked.  
  
"Before he got the chance to kill you."  
  
"Oh. okay. Guess it's over then, huh?"  
  
"And it will stay over as long as you don't blab to everyone who's willing to pretend to be interested," Greg told him. "This is partly your fault."  
  
"My fault?" Richie asked. "What the hell do you mean, my fault? It's not like I asked to be kidnapped!"  
  
"But you gave him plenty of reason to," Greg pointed out. "How did he know about MacLeod's money, unless you told him?"  
  
"He heard about Mac before I told him anything. Hell, he knew about me! And the only reason I told him anything is because you two are so damn infuriating!" Richie fumed. "I can't tell you anything!" he accused pointing at Greg. "Somehow everything is my fault with you! It's like you don't expect me to be able to do anything! You treat me like I'm still thirteen! Well, I got news for you, I'm not! I am who I am; nothing you can do will change that. I'm sorry if I disappointed you or something because I didn't turn out perfect but that. that is your fault."  
  
"Richard Ryan." Greg started.  
  
"No!" Richie shouted standing up and glaring down at him. "You can't do that! I'm not a little kid! You can't treat me like this! I made some mistakes, fine I'll admit it. I was an idiot! But that's life; shit happens and there's nothing you can do about it! So just deal!" he roared not pausing to take a breath. Greg sat struck dumb by Richie's behavior, just looking up at his son. "And you," Richie started up again turning to face Duncan. "You can stop looking so smug, 'cause you do the same thing. You act like I'm some child who's too young and innocent to be at fault for anything. Well, I'm not as innocent as you'd like to think. You think you know me so well. Kira was not my first, my first was long before I met you."  
  
Greg made a shocked noise from his position next to Richie. "Just what are you implying?"  
  
"I'm not implying anything," Richie told him. "I'm not a virgin. Just because I haven't done anything with Heather, doesn't mean there haven't been others. not that you'd know. You don't seem to care. But Mac, Mac cares just a little too much. It's like if I tell you one thing, I have to tell you everything. Well, fine, you wanna know everything? I'll tell you!"  
  
"Richie, calm down, you don't have to tell me anything you don't want to," Duncan told him.  
  
"You don't mean that," Richie answered. "You wanna know; you wanna know everything. You always want to know everything! Well, here it is. Dad's the reason I didn't know how to swim when we went to the cabin, I had sex for the first time at fifteen with my foster brother's babysitter; I already knew how to install light fixtures, and patch walls, and fix boilers and all that stuff you were so proud to teach me. I already knew. I was just humoring you. Tessa thought it would be a good idea; for some reason, she thought it was just what we needed. When I moved in with you, I was planning on jetting out of there the second Dad showed up. If he ever bothered to keep a promise."  
  
"Hey," Greg protested.  
  
"Oh, that's right, you tried." Richie mimicked. "For pete's sake, you're immortal! You can pretend to be some fancy surgeon in Florida but you can't hack into an orphanage computer system! Come on, I can do that and I'm just a kid! Remember?!"  
  
"Richie calm, down. It's probably just the drugs talking," Duncan suggested.  
  
"Maybe, but it's the truth. And you want some more? I hate that everyone is so damn protective! I'm not an imbecile! I'm not stupid! I can handle myself!"  
  
"Very well demonstrated this last weekend," Greg snorted.  
  
"That's another thing!" Richie continued. "I hate being in your shadows! I'm either Duncan MacLeod's student or Greg Masters' son! No one ever comes after me for me; they come after me to get to you!" The last part was aimed at Duncan. "It's like I'm not good enough to have my own enemies. I have to wait until I become someone worth noticing." his tone softened considerably, as did his expression. "Well, I'm through; I'm not staying in anyone's shadow anymore. I'm a big boy now. I can take care of myself."  
  
"Of course you can," Duncan agreed gently. Adam had been right, Richie was fishing for independence and he was holding him back. "You deserve to be on your own. I won't step in anymore. If you need anything, you can ask. It's all you, tough guy."  
  
"Oh, man," Richie stepped away and slumped against the wall. "I'm sorry, Mac. I didn't mean."  
  
"Of course you did," Duncan assured him getting up and going to him. "You just needed something to give you a push. I told you to stand up to Masters, I didn't think you had a problem standing up to me."  
  
"I didn't think I did either," Richie admitted. "I don't know where all that stuff came from."  
  
"From you," Duncan told him. "You used to tell Tessa everything. Now there's nobody to tell. It all had to come out sooner or later."  
  
"You must hate me."  
  
"I'm not mad, Rich," he assured him. "A little disappointed that you didn't feel you could tell me sooner, but I guess that's my fault."  
  
"No. it.."  
  
"Hey, no arguments, huh?"  
  
"Okay," Richie mumbled, offering a smile. Duncan smiled back and tousled his hair.  
  
"Richie," Greg said standing up.  
  
Richie walked toward him. "Dad, I." he was cut off as Greg slapped him across his face.  
  
"Masters!" Duncan yelled starting toward him.  
  
"Mac!" Richie put an arm out to stop him.  
  
"Don't you ever talk to me like that again," Greg instructed.  
  
"Don't you ever touch him like that again or I'll." Duncan snarled.  
  
"Mac, I can handle it," Richie insisted. "You got your shot; now he had his."  
  
"Richie, I hardly think what just happened is anything like what happened with us," Duncan argued.  
  
"How is it different?" Richie asked. "I went off on you and you hit me, I went off on him and he hit me. To me, the situations are exactly the same." He turned to Greg. "So I'll tell you what I told him. You get one free shot. which you've already had. from here on out, I swing back no questions asked. Got it?"  
  
"You think you have the guts?" Greg challenged.  
  
"You bet I do," Richie returned coldly. "But I don't suggest you test your theory, 'cause I'm a lot tougher than I look." With that he turned and left the kitchen.  
  
"Masters, I'm warning you," Duncan sneered. "He hits pretty damn hard." He turned and went to pack his bag. He went up to Richie's room before he left. "I gotta get going," he told Richie. "I just thought you should know that John found the ransom note and Coach Roberts has your sword."  
  
"Really?" Richie asked, in the middle of packing himself.  
  
"We told him."  
  
"Hey, you need a ride to the airport?" Richie interrupted.  
  
"Sure." Duncan had taken a taxi to Greg's straight from the airport.  
  
"Just let me finish here real quick." Richie shoved books and papers into his backpack and slug in over his shoulder. "Is that the money?" Richie asked, gesturing to a black suite case that was sitting at Duncan's feet.  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"You actually brought it?"  
  
"Of course I did. I didn't know if this guy was mortal or not," he explained. "I wasn't going to risk you like that."  
  
"If he was mortal he couldn't have hurt me," Richie pointed out.  
  
"If he was mortal he wouldn't have gotten you," Duncan added. "So if he was immortal he could have hurt you."  
  
"You really brought fifteen million dollars?"  
  
"I happen to think you're worth it." Duncan turned to the hall. "I also think you can carry it. It's heavy."  
  
"Really?" Richie asked, bending to pick it up. He grunted as the weight hit his shoulders. "Damn."  
  
"We don't want me to miss my plane do we?" Duncan laughed taking the money from Richie.  
  
With a quick "See ya," to Greg, the pair left for the airport. Duncan explained what had been going on while Richie was gone. Then Richie sat at the gate with him, talking about anything that came to mind; their fight forgotten and wounds healed.  
  
AN: If you are asking yourself these questions: "Richie didn't know how to swim?" and "Mac hit Richie? When?" then you need to read (or I suggest you read) the UL companion stories 'A Lesson Learned' (wherein Richie learns to swim ala Mac's teaching style) and/or 'Tough Love' (wherein Mac gives Richie a black eye and a bloody nose). Any other little explanation need as to what happened in this Universe's past? Let me know. I have planned Richie's first trip to Paris that will be out some time soon as well.  
  
Sorry guys but I don't know how soon I can update. School started today. I promise I am not abandoning the story (or Finding Time) but have simply been hit with reality. 


	29. Home Again

When Richie got home from the airport he took a much-needed nap. When he woke up, the guys at the house were happy to see him and asked him if everything was all right.  
  
"For now," Richie told them. "My, um, uncle is sick. real sick. But he's still around."  
  
That afternoon he called Heather.  
  
"Is everything okay?" she demanded as soon as she heard who it was.  
  
"Yeah. uh, sorry I didn't call you. There really wasn't time. I didn't mean to just drop off the face of the earth," Richie apologized. "What do you say we go for a drive?"  
  
Ten minutes later they were in the car heading to the park.  
  
"I thought we could go for a walk," Richie said parking the car. Heather got out and took his hand.  
  
"So what happened?" Heather asked after they had been walking for a few minutes.  
  
Richie took a deep breath. "Do you want the truth or what I'm telling everyone else?"  
  
Heather stopped and looked at him. "Both."  
  
"Well, the story is that my uncle is sick and we thought he was dying."  
  
"And the truth?"  
  
Richie took another deep breath and squeezed her hand. "I was kidnapped."  
  
"What!?" Heather demanded. "Richie Ryan, I swear if you're trying to be funny."  
  
"It's the truth," he assured her. "I promise."  
  
"Why? I mean no offence but what good would you do for someone? Were they a Sooner's fan?"  
  
Richie smiled faintly. "No. They were a money fan. Mac's money specifically."  
  
"What did they do to you?" she asked on the verge of tears.  
  
"Nothing. I'm fine, really. I was just a little dehydrated, that's all."  
  
"Are you sure? You must have been so scared."  
  
"I knew I was going to be okay," Richie told her taking her other hand. "Mac would never let anything happen to me."  
  
"But what if it had been one of those maniacs? The ones that kill people just for the fun of it?"  
  
"It wasn't. They just wanted some fast cash. And they didn't get it."  
  
"But."  
  
"What? Do you want me dismembered?" Richie asked. "What happened happened. That's all there is to it."  
  
"I'm glad you're okay," Heather whispered squeezing him tightly.  
  
"Me too," he smiled into her hair. "One more thing."  
  
"What?" she asked pulling away.  
  
"You have to swear you won't tell anyone. This can't get out."  
  
"I promise."  
  
. . . . . .  
  
Richie stood uncomfortably in front of Coach Roberts' desk Monday after practice.  
  
"Sit down, Ryan."  
  
"Thank you," Richie answered taking a seat. Duncan had drilled him on the story they had come up with for Richie having a sword; but that didn't keep him from being nervous beyond all belief.  
  
"Do you want to explain this?" Roberts asked getting Richie's sword out of the locker.  
  
"Mac gave it to me."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"I made a fencing team back home. It was a present."  
  
"And why was this present in the team house?"  
  
"I had just gotten it that day. The delivery guy woke me up. I was gonna take it to my dad's house, Coach, I swear. I just never got the chance."  
  
"You swear?"  
  
"Yes, sir," Richie immediately answered.  
  
"Then I will take it to Greg's house myself. I don't want weapons near my team. I can control what you do at school; what you do at home is your business."  
  
"Thank you."  
  
"Now, on to more important matters. Are you alright, son?"  
  
"I'm fine."  
  
"What I mean is, do you think you're going to have any. difficulties either in class, on the job, or on the court because of this?"  
  
"What kind of difficulties?"  
  
"Hard time concentrating, paranoia, anything we should look out for."  
  
"I don't think so. The whole thing sounds traumatic but it wasn't that bad," Richie told him. "Just more obnoxious than anything."  
  
"Okay, I believe you. But if this thing starts to sneak up on you, you just tell me and we'll see what we can do."  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
"Are you sure you're alright, son?" Roberts asked, looking at Richie closely.  
  
Richie swallowed. "I'm fine. Just trying to keep my stories straight."  
  
"The boys will leave you alone soon enough."  
  
"I know. I just don't like having to lie. but I don't want to tell everyone the truth."  
  
"Fair enough. This will all blow over soon enough. Unless you have anything you'd like to talk about, you may leave."  
  
"Actually, how are you feeling, Coach?"  
  
"As well as can be expected. I just got the official word that we made the Big Twelve. I'll be telling the boys next Friday."  
  
"I hope you don't mind, but I told Rabbi Gilman. I just needed someone to talk to about it."  
  
"Rabbi? I thought you and Greg were atheist?" Coach Roberts asked with the faintest hint of a smile.  
  
"Dad's atheist; I'm Jewish. Nice combination, huh?"  
  
"I don't mind that your Rabbi knows. I just wanted the team to be the first to know."  
  
"Coach, I'm so sorry. I wish there was something I could do to help. is there?"  
  
"No, Richie," Roberts smiled. "You're a sweet boy to offer. I have to face this alone and there's nothing you can do. mortal or immortal." Richie tried very hard to hide the shocked expression on his face. "Yes, I know your secret," he added. "Greg told me a little while ago."  
  
"So why did you drill me about my sword?"  
  
"You're not supposed to know that I know."  
  
"When did Dad tell you?"  
  
"Just after you were kidnapped. He came up here with that MacLeod fellow and gave me the story. A couple days later he came back and told me the truth. He said MacLeod didn't know so he couldn't say anything in front of him."  
  
"Oh." Richie didn't say anything else.  
  
"Richie, if my opinion matters for anything. you might want to stay with your own kind."  
  
"Are you kicking me off the team?" Richie asked confusedly.  
  
"Richie Ryan, would I do that to you?"  
  
"Then what do you mean, stay with my own kind?"  
  
"You can't stay with mortals for too long without having to tell them, you might want to rethink how close you are getting with MacLeod."  
  
"Coach, there's more to this than you know. I understand what you're saying. but sometimes. sometimes you just have to do something. I'm not leaving Mac behind just because we might be a little different. He's done a lot for me."  
  
"Would he have done all he has if he knew who you really were?"  
  
"I know for a fact he would, because he knows me. How long I live doesn't matter. He's my best friend and has been for a long time. Since we met he's known. That's not an issue. And I'm not going to choose between them, either."  
  
"No one says you have to. Just remember that some things are going to be hard to deal with. Do what's best for you."  
  
"I will. And Coach, don't believe everything Dad tells you. He hates Mac and he's mad at me."  
  
"Then do what you can to eliminate those problems."  
  
"You mean apologize?" Richie asked. "I don't really think I did anything wrong."  
  
"Then tell him that. Work it out. You two shouldn't be fighting; he's my replacement coach if things don't go well."  
  
"You mean he's the new coach?"  
  
"Just a fill in, if I get too sick this season. The actual new coach hasn't been decided on yet."  
  
"Oh. I guess we'd better work things out before this gets too complicated."  
  
. . . . . .  
  
Thursday after dinner, Richie went over to Greg's house. He opened the door and walked into the empty house. Taking a deep breath he settled on the couch. He was going to get all this settled before he left if he had to stay all night. A little over an hour later the garage door opened.  
  
"It's me!" Richie called when he heard Greg enter the house.  
  
"What are you doing here?" Greg asked, entering the living room.  
  
"I just talked with Coach. He told me lots of interesting things. Like he knows about immortals, but apparently Mac doesn't."  
  
"Richie, I just needed to tell him the truth."  
  
"Then you should have told him about you. What did you tell him about Miller? He was using me to get to Mac's money and your quickening?"  
  
"Pretty much."  
  
"Then you didn't tell him the truth. Where do you get off telling people my secret?" Richie asked, standing up and going toe to toe with Greg.  
  
"It's our secret."  
  
"It's none of my business who you tell about you. And it's none of your business telling people about me."  
  
"Richie, I just thought he should know. I didn't think you'd mind!" Greg defended.  
  
"I don't mind that he knows. I mind that I didn't have a say in it!" Richie told him. "What's next? You tell Heather?"  
  
"She's your girlfriend."  
  
"And he's my coach! You should have left immortals out of it! You should have let him keep the sword. I can always get a new one."  
  
"You mean you can always ask MacLeod."  
  
"That's what this is about," Richie realized. "You figured if one more person pushed the idea of you being better for me I'd cave. Dad, this isn't a contest! You're my father; he's my friend. That's the way it's always been. The way it always will be. Besides he has more money. You still need to save."  
  
"So you turn to him with all your problems?"  
  
"That's not what I meant," Richie insisted. "I just mean. Mac's been around for four hundred years. You've barely been around for fifty. Who has the money to throw away on me?"  
  
"Paying for your education is not throwing money away. Making sure you have the means to protect yourself is not throwing money away," Greg told him.  
  
"You want to make sure I have the means. Don't you care if I have the skill?"  
  
"What's that supposed to mean?"  
  
"You rely on people like Mac and Miller to teach me. In the past three years we've spared twice, who do you expect me to go to when I have a problem?"  
  
"Your father!"  
  
"A father would care a little more," Richie shot back before he could stop himself. "All you care about is if I can play ball or not!" He had already gotten in above his head. he might as well go for drowning. "I can play, you know that. You taught me! If I had any problems there I would have no problem coming to you for that. But Mac taught me about immortals. He taught me to fight. He taught me to protect myself. If I have a problem with that, I'm gonna go to him. He's had more experience than you."  
  
"You'd go to the man that gets you kidnapped? The man who cause half your problems with immortals?"  
  
"The man who stepped up to the plate and took me in when you weren't anywhere around? That man? Damn straight I will. I don't care how long you live, I'm gonna go to Mac first. That's just the way it is. Face it."  
  
"I raised you!" Greg yelled. "What did he do for you?"  
  
"About as much as you did. only better."  
  
"How dare you!" Greg yelled hitting Richie with such force the younger man stumbled back a few paces. "I've warned you, boy," he sneered advancing on him. "I did all I could for you. I raised you, I fed you, I did everything I could to give you a father and this is how you repay me!"  
  
"Apparently," Richie answered with a strangely satisfied smile. "And I warned you, too." He raised his fist. "You only get one shot." He pulled his fist back and plastered a hard right hook across Greg's jaw. "And I'm a lot tougher than I look."  
  
"What the hell do you think you're doing?!" Greg demanded rubbing his jaw.  
  
"Setting things straight. I am not a little kid anymore. You can't control me. You can't tell me what to do," Richie answered coldly, standing up as tall as he could to make the most of his five feet and eleven inches. "So here's how this is going to work. You get over your need for control. You get over your intimidation issues with Mac. You stop trying to run my life. You step back and let me be."  
  
"Are you telling me what to do?"  
  
"Yeah. You straighten up and then we'll talk." Richie stared Greg down for a minute. He thought he detected the slightest bit of fear in his eyes. "I grew up a long time ago. it's not my fault you weren't around to see it." He turned and walked to the door.  
  
"You walk out now. you're not coming back," Greg told him.  
  
"We'll see." Richie walked out the door and left.  
  
. . . . . .  
  
Richie felt oddly relieved as he sat through his classes the next day. He had done it; he had finally stood up to his father. He was in control of the situation. He was the alpha. He was the top dog. And to add to his elation there was a four-day weekend in his very near future and plenty of time to do whatever he wanted. Even his biology lab wasn't as loathsome as usual with the prospect of freedom so near. He chatted happily with his lab partner from the time they cut open their fetal pig to the time they parted ways in the parking lot. He dumped his books in his car and went straight to work.  
  
His good mood rubbed off on the customers. Nobody complained and everyone left him good tips. He left straight from work for practice. He passed his good mood onto the team and opted to play simple games they had played as children instead of running a hard practice. They started out with a team wide game of HORSE that ultimately boiled down to Monday and Richie. There was lots of laughing and joke cracking when Monday beat Richie with a simple free throw. He knew it was Richie's worse shot and decided to call him on it. His reward was no laps after practice. They played hot potato to stimulate their reflexes, a "water-balloon" tossing contest to work on passing and Monkey in the Middle to have a good laugh at the guy in the middle. Coach Roberts sat in the bleachers having a good laugh the entire time. After practice Roberts reminded him that he needed to run real practices if he wanted to make Final Four. but the games were a good change of pace.  
  
Richie's good mood followed him home, but didn't make it into his room. His good mood ran away when it saw what had happened while he was gone. There were clothes, books, cds, and pictures piled on his bed. And perched on the very top was his sword and a note.  
  
'Don't bother coming back. This is everything. -Greg'  
  
. . . . . .  
  
The little red light was flashing when Coach Roberts checked his answering machine that night. He hit play.  
  
"You have one new message," the robotic voice told him; then, "Coach. it's me," Richie's voice played off the tape. "You know how you said if I thought I was having any problems to tell you? Well, I have a problem. I have to go home for a few days. I got people to cover for me at the Stadium. I should be back by Wednesday practice. No guarantees I'll be here Monday. I have to go home. I'll get back as soon as I can. If this doesn't work out I'll call. Sorry. Bye."  
  
. . . . . .  
  
Richie stood in line at the ticket counter at the airport.  
  
"Next," an attendant called.  
  
He took his place in front of him. "When's your next flight to Seacouver Washington?"  
  
After Richie got his ticket he went to a payphone.  
  
"Hey Heather, It's me. Look nothing's wrong. I'm fine. Don't worry but I'm headed to Washington. Dad and I just got in a huge fight and I need to get away to clear my head. If anyone asks; it's my uncle. Love you."  
  
"Richie! Is there anything I could do to help?" she asked.  
  
"Nope, I just need some time away from him. Mac should help me get some perspective. See you soon!"  
  
"okay, I love you! Come back to me, I miss you!"  
  
"I love you, too. Bye."  
  
Two hours later, Richie was on the red-eye flight home. 


	30. Should'a Called

It was nearly one in the morning when Richie got to the dojo. He paid the taxi driver with the last of his cash, apologizing for the lousy tip. He made his way up the outside stairs to the loft skipping the dojo entirely. He felt Duncan's presence as he let himself in.  
  
"Mac?" he called as he rounded the corner of the elevator. "Oh man!" he froze and dropped his bag.  
  
"Richie," Duncan panted from the bed, as he and the woman he was with hastily covered themselves. "What are you doing here?"  
  
"Interrupting," Richie answered, turning to face the elevator. "And making things very awkward."  
  
"Um. you two haven't met, have you?" Duncan laughed nervously.  
  
"No, we haven't," the woman answered. Richie was slightly relieved to here good humor in her voice.  
  
"Rich, why don't you go downstairs. We'll be there in a minute."  
  
"Sure," Richie nodded slightly. He went to the stairs, leaving his bag where it was in the middle of the floor.  
  
Duncan and the woman got dressed quickly and headed for the elevator. "Kids," Duncan shrugged moving Richie's bag out of the way.  
  
Richie was lying on the weight bench staring at the ceiling. He didn't move when he heard the elevator gate open and felt Duncan's buzz come back into range. While the woman hadn't sounded angry in the loft he was still too embarrassed to look at her.  
  
"Um, Rich?" Duncan asked kicking his toes. "You want to be sociable for a few minutes?"  
  
"I am so sorry," Richie insisted sitting up. "I should have called or something."  
  
"Rich, you live here, too," Duncan smiled. "Richie's room is upstairs," he explained to the dark haired woman standing beside him.  
  
"Oh." She flashed Richie an attractive smile when she caught him looking at her. He quickly averted his gaze.  
  
"Richie, can you stop staring at the wall for a minute?" Duncan asked. Richie looked at him. "That's progress. Richie Ryan, this is Ann Lindsay, Ann this is Richie."  
  
"Nice to meet you," Ann said with a smile.  
  
"Same here," Richie managed after clearing his throat. "I didn't know Mac had a. I mean, he didn't mention. He hasn't told me." He stopped and groaned. "You know, I can really only fit so many feet in my mouth at one time so, I'm just going to say nice to meet you and shut up." He smiled self-consciously and put his hands behind his back.  
  
"You're right, Duncan; he is funny," Ann smiled making Richie blush. "Well, I'm just going to leave you boys to your emergency," she said after a few seconds of awkward silence.  
  
Duncan gave her a kiss and walked her to the door. While they were gone, Richie sank back onto the weight bench. A few minutes later Duncan returned and sat next to him.  
  
"Rich." he started.  
  
"I don't know," Richie interrupted.  
  
"What?"  
  
"That's the answer to any question you are planning on asking. Why am I here? What happened? Is everything okay? Is anything wrong? I don't know."  
  
"Let's start with something simple," Duncan decided. "How did you get here?"  
  
"Really late flight."  
  
"Are you hurt?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Did you have a fight with Heather about last weekend?"  
  
"No. I told her the truth. well, the non-immortal truth."  
  
"You told her that you got kidnapped?" Duncan asked.  
  
"Do you have any idea how much I hate that word?" Richie grumbled. "But yeah, I told her."  
  
"Did Coach Roberts give you a hard time about the sword?"  
  
"No. He was pretty cool about." Richie paused and anger set in his features. "Because Dad told him all about immortals."  
  
"What?"  
  
"He told him Miller was after your money and his quickening. He told Coach I was immortal. He has no right to tell people about me!" Richie stood up and started pacing. "Then he got Coach trying to convince me to rethink our friendship. You know, I should stay with my own kind. See, according to Dad you don't know about immortals."  
  
"Did you tell Roberts I was?" Duncan asked.  
  
"It's none of my business to tell anyone you're immortal. I can't believe Dad did that to me," he continued. "He totally screwed everything up. And then. then when I confronted him about it."  
  
"Whoa, you talked to Masters about this?"  
  
"Yeah. I told him to back off and stop treating me like a baby. I told him he had no right to tell Coach about me. I told him to leave me alone!" Richie stopped pacing and stood facing Duncan next to the punching bag.  
  
"And then?"  
  
"Then he hit me."  
  
"And what did you do?"  
  
Richie slugged the punching bag as hard as he could. "I hit him back!"  
  
"Then what?"  
  
"I left!" Richie hit the bag again. "I told him to shape up and left!" He continued to hit the bag as he spoke.  
  
"You left?"  
  
"Yeah. And it felt so good to do the leaving for a change. He left me first!"  
  
Duncan moved to hold the bag still as Richie beat it. "And how did that make you feel?" he asked. He knew it was corny but Richie had a lot of aggression to get out.  
  
"I hated him! I hate him!" Duncan noted the change of tense but didn't say anything. "He treats me like crap!" Richie leaned into the bag and kept swinging. "He's an ass! I hate him! I don't want anything to do with him! I don't care if he doesn't want me anymore! I don't want him, either!"  
  
"He doesn't want you?"  
  
"No, and I DON'T CARE!" Richie screamed at the top of his voice hitting the bag so hard it hurt Duncan. "Everything was great until he left me! I would have never lived with Mamma Nikki if he hadn't left! I would have never done all the stupid stuff I did if he hadn't left!" He was panting but he didn't slow down or use any less force as he continued to attack the bag.  
  
"Richie, think of the good things that came out of it," Duncan couldn't help but remind him.  
  
"I hate him!"  
  
"Why?"  
  
"He never cared about me!"  
  
"Why?"  
  
"I DON'T KNOW!" Angry tears were streaming down his face. "He just wanted a puppet!" He kept hitting. "He wants me to be him! I'm not!"  
  
"No, you're not Greg," Duncan agreed. "You're better than he is!" Richie's rage was contagious.  
  
"Yeah! I don't need him!"  
  
"No!"  
  
"I don't need his approval! I DON'T NEED HIM!"  
  
"You're a great kid, Rich. You don't need anyone to tell you!"  
  
"WHO CARES WHAT HE THINKS!"  
  
"Not you!" Duncan cheered.  
  
"HELL NO! I DON'T CARE IF I EVER SEE HIM AGAIN!" Richie screamed, giving the bag a slug that sent Duncan stumbling back a few paces. Richie stood glaring at the bag and panting so hard he couldn't speak anymore.  
  
"Feel better?" Duncan asked. Richie nodded as he tried to catch his breath. "Did he really hit you again?" Richie nodded again. "And you got him back?" he asked proudly.  
  
"Yup," Richie breathed out.  
  
"Good for you!"  
  
"You should have seen his face when I did it to," Richie's breathing was slowly returning to normal. "He could'a shit a brick and been less surprised!"  
  
"You really have a way with words, don't you?" Duncan asked. "You really threw him through a loop, huh?"  
  
"Yeah. Then. Then I left." Richie mood changed suddenly. "I had one of the best days of my life."  
  
"So why are you so mad?" Duncan asked.  
  
"I don't know," Richie answered sitting on the floor. "He sent all my stuff back and I had to leave."  
  
"He sent your stuff back?"  
  
"When I got home last night from practice all my stuff was in my room at the team house."  
  
"All your stuff from Masters'?"  
  
Richie nodded. "And on the very top. there was my sword for the world to see. He told me not to go back."  
  
"Something tells me you're not mad about that part," Duncan said taking a seat on the floor next to Richie.  
  
"I don't know what I think about that part," he admitted.  
  
"Maybe you're hurt?" Duncan suggested. "You were hoping things were going to get better between you two and now its over?"  
  
"I guess," he shrugged. "Is this what you felt like when your dad disowned you?"  
  
"Yeah," Duncan answered softly. "And it's a horrible feeling. But I learned to accept it. You will, too."  
  
"I don't want to accept it. I want it to change," Richie admitted. "I didn't mean." he trailed off.  
  
"You didn't mean to hit him?" Duncan supplied. "You didn't mean to tell him how you felt? You didn't mean to make him back off? You didn't mean to be yourself?"  
  
"No. I didn't mean to make him mad," Richie corrected.  
  
"You didn't mean to hurt him."  
  
"I didn't mean to ruin everything."  
  
"Oh, Rich, you didn't ruin everything," Duncan assured him. "If he had been more willing to listen instead of issuing orders, it wouldn't have been so hard on him." Duncan took a deep breath before continuing. Normally he never had a decent word to say about Greg Masters, but Richie needed at least a shred of hope to hold onto before he could realize that this was all for the best. "I'm sure he's been doing what he thought was best for you. Sometimes the almost parents can make mistakes in that department."  
  
"Like you and taking me to Conner?" Richie supplied.  
  
"Exactly. When I did it, I was sure it was the right thing. Later on I was proved to be wrong."  
  
"Yeah, well, chances are I won't get hurt enough to end up in the hospital and bring him running," Richie pointed out.  
  
"But if this is wrong, it will be fixed. Just hopefully not so dramatically as last time."  
  
Richie yawned. "My body would appreciate that."  
  
"It's pretty late. Why don't we go to bed," Duncan suggested.  
  
He waited for twenty minutes before going up to check on Richie. He had fallen asleep with his clothes still on. Duncan smiled and took off Richie's shoes and socks. He pulled the covers from underneath the young immortal and tucked him in.  
  
"You know," he said after a minute. "Tessa would know what to say to you. To be honest, I couldn't be happier that you and Greg aren't so close anymore. You're finally starting to see him as I do. But if you don't like it, we'll fix it. You'll be happy. I promise. Night, Rich."  
  
"Niema," Richie answered rolling over.  
  
Duncan stopped. He had thought Richie was asleep. "Rich?" A soft snore was his only response.  
  
. . . . . .  
  
That morning Duncan woke with a start. He looked at his clock; it was ten thirty. He got dressed and rushed through breakfast before hurrying to open the dojo. Luckily, no one had shown up yet so his oversleeping wasn't noticed.  
  
That afternoon Joe and Adam dropped by. They chatted for a while then Duncan invited them up for lunch. As the elevator made its way to the third floor a buzz hit Adam and Duncan.  
  
"Expecting company?" Adam asked moving for his sword.  
  
"No," Duncan answered reaching for his own. "Richie!" he suddenly realized.  
  
"What?" Adam and Joe asked together.  
  
"Richie came home last night," Duncan explained as the elevator came to a stop. "I forgot all about him."  
  
"Thanks a lot," Richie answered from the kitchen. "Love you, too, man."  
  
"I'm sorry, Richie," Duncan apologized.  
  
"Don't worry. It took me a minute to realize where I was when I woke up. Hey guys."  
  
"Hey, Richie," Joe greeted with a smile. "Mike went crazy last night when you turned up missing again."  
  
"And you didn't tell me?" Duncan demanded.  
  
"Richie slips away a lot," Joe told him. "He usually turns up. Mike just feels guilty about last week, that's all."  
  
"Tell him I blame him completely. I totally hate the fact that he gives me privacy," Richie smiled.  
  
"What's that smell?" Adam asked, although from the state of the kitchen it was obvious.  
  
"Oh," Richie suddenly blushed. "That. Cookies anyone?" he offered holding up the plate with freshly baked chocolate chip cookies on it.  
  
"You made these?" Joe asked after taking a bite.  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Where'd you get the recipe?"  
  
"Sara Lee," Adam answered taking another cookie from the plate.  
  
"Tessa," Duncan and Richie answered together.  
  
"She used to make him cookies whenever we fought," Duncan added.  
  
"She only did that once," Richie corrected. Tessa had stopped being such a sensitive topic for the two, but they still rarely spoke of her in front of company.  
  
"She did that every time, you little liar," Duncan shot back.  
  
"Did not," he defended. "I made 'em."  
  
"You?"  
  
"Yeah that's what I meant by 'I'."  
  
"But when she was gone for the weekend, there were no cookies."  
  
"Cause that was my first solo flight. And man, I'm telling you, those things sucked. I wouldn't even eat them."  
  
"She never told me you could cook," Duncan smiled, taking another cookie.  
  
"I know. I'm just surprised Conner kept his mouth shut." Richie turned to get the last of his cookies out of the oven.  
  
"Conner?" Joe repeated. "Oh, you mean when Mac." he left the sentence unfinished.  
  
"Ditched me in New York?" Richie finished with a wicked smile.  
  
"Richie, I didn't." Duncan started.  
  
"Yup," Richie continued, as if Duncan had said nothing. "I drove him nuts. Everyday I was in the kitchen. And I only knew how to make one thing."  
  
"Whoever complains about these cookies is a fool," Adam mumbled.  
  
"Is that a complement?" Richie asked.  
  
"Of course not; it's an insult to Conner."  
  
"So what did he do?" Joe asked.  
  
"Bought me a cook book. I went crazy making everything he had the ingredients for."  
  
"Then what?"  
  
Richie's smile faded and he concentrated on the cookies. "I went back with Mac."  
  
Everything got quiet and Adam ignored the awkwardness that suddenly controlled the room. "So what the hell are you doing here?" he asked Richie. "I thought we had finally gotten rid of you."  
  
Richie blushed again and busied himself with the dishes. "Long story. No big, though."  
  
"I'll tell you later," Duncan mouthed. "He just came up for a visit," he said loudly enough for Richie to hear.  
  
For three days, Richie fluctuated between his usual self and a strong state of depression. Sometimes he was up for going out and sometimes he refused to leave his room or even turn on the lights. Duncan talked to him whenever he was willing and eventually Richie felt ready to go back to school. As Duncan drove him to the airport Richie grilled him about Ann.  
  
"I can't believe you never mentioned her before," Richie chided.  
  
"You've been busy."  
  
"Never too busy to tease you about the new girlfriend. I have two and a half years of Heather related trauma to get you back for."  
  
"I'll leave you alone if you leave me alone," Duncan offered pulling to a stop at the passenger drop off.  
  
"No deal, I so owe you," Richie smiled as he got out of the car and got his bag from the backseat.  
  
"I look forward to it. And Rich, that's your room if you ever want to come back and use it. But next time. can you at least call from the front door or something? Give a guy a little warning?"  
  
"What you wanna make sure Ann and Adam never find out about each other?" Richie asked.  
  
"Adam?"  
  
"Come on, Mac," Richie smiled. "He's always over there, drinking our beer, sleeping on the couch. what's a guy supposed to think?"  
  
"Richard Ryan!" Duncan laughed.  
  
"That was for telling Heather about Angie!" Richie protested ducking Duncan's punch. "But you have to admit." he added backing away.  
  
"Richie!" Duncan started after him.  
  
"Ah, ah!" Richie scolded, pointing to a sign that reminded travelers that the area was for passenger drop off only. "You don't want to get towed do you?"  
  
"This is war!" Duncan assured him with a broad grin, getting into the car.  
  
"Fine with me!" Richie shot back with a wave before going into the airport. The trip back was quiet and Richie was ready to go back to school. Still, he just didn't know what to do about Greg.  
  
AN: The question, who is Mamma Nikki? And Mac sent Richie to Conner? Will be answered in two companion stories soon to come! 


	31. Secret's Out

"Richie, I'm. BEEP! Richie, it's. BEEP! Hi, Richie, I know. BEEP! Please call. BEEP! I'm sorr.. BEEP! Where are. BEEP!" Richie just kept hitting the erase button every time Greg's voice spoke from his answering machine. "Rich. BEEP! Hey, babe." It was Heather; Richie let the message play. "Call me when you get home. I hope everything went well. BEEP! Where the hell. BEEP!" Once again Greg was talking. "Richie. BEEP! Richard Ryan," It was Greg but Richie let it play. "Where are you? Call me back or I will come to you! BEEP!" Richie erased it with satisfaction. "Richie, I'm sorry. BEEP! No new messages."  
  
"About time," Richie grumbled dropping onto his bed. There had been thirty messages waiting for him when he got home from Washington, most of which were from Greg apologizing and either begging or demanding he call him back. Richie called Heather, assured her everything was fine and they talked for an hour.  
  
Then Richie went to practice early so he could apologize to Coach Roberts for leaving suddenly. Coach Roberts was very understanding and had admitted that he had been waiting for something like that to happen. The team welcomed Richie back, who explained that the uncle who had been sick had died suddenly when they thought he was getting better. The team gave him their condolences and then they got to work.  
  
Richie didn't call Greg for another two days. They made arrangements to meet after the game on Saturday. Richie went through his week trying to hide his apprehension about the meeting. He was as cheerful as ever with his tables at The Stadium and earned some of the best tips he had gotten in the almost three years he had been working there. He ran hard practices, but the team didn't complain, they had become intent on winning the Final Four.  
  
They won their game against Michigan State 128 to 117. The news of Roberts' immanent retirement had spread to the media so reporters stood impatiently outside the locker room waiting for the Missouri players to come out. They left in large groups, the upper classmen distracting the reporters so the younger players could sneak away. As the captain Richie took the last group out and took over answering questions so the rest of the team could leave. He told the reports how sorry the team was to see Coach Roberts leave. He told them how intent the team was on wining the Final Four for Coach's last year. And he explained for the twelve billionth time about his "uncle." Finally, he appeased the reporters enough to sneak away.  
  
He got in his car and drove over to Greg's house. When he got to the house, he thought about using his key to let himself in, but decided to ring the bell instead. He didn't call out any greeting, but waited for Greg to see who it was.  
  
"Hi, Richie," Greg said with a smile opening the door.  
  
"Hey," Richie answered. Despite the nice weather he was wearing his jacket and had his sword tucked inside.  
  
"Come in." Greg stepped aside. Richie walked past him. "I saw the game, you were pretty good."  
  
"Thanks."  
  
"Do you want some dinner?"  
  
"Sure."  
  
Richie sat at the table and Greg served up grilled chicken and mashed potatoes. They ate in silence. At the end of the meal, Greg brought over a bowl of gummy worms for Richie. Richie tried to not eat them, but his will power failed him and he began chewing on the candy.  
  
"Did you get my messages?" Greg asked.  
  
"Yup," Richie answered. "Didn't really listen to them though. What's up?"  
  
"I'm sorry," Greg said. "I was wrong to get so angry at you. You're an adult, you're about to graduate college, and I have no business bossing you around." He paused.  
  
"If you're waiting for me to correct you, it's not gonna happen," Richie said.  
  
"I know. I've been a horrible father these past couple of years." Richie fought the urge to claim it had been fine. "I've treated you like a little kid. I want to make it up to you."  
  
"I'm listening."  
  
"You know how I promised to take you somewhere spring break?" Richie nodded. "Well, those plans got canceled. I have a business trip and I can't get out of it."  
  
"And this is supposed to make it up to me how?"  
  
"I want you to come with me."  
  
"No offense. but I doubt it would be very much fun. I'm sure I can go."  
  
"Give me a chance," Greg interrupted, fully aware Richie was going to go running home to Duncan when he got the chance. "I just thought it would be an educational experience for you."  
  
"Educational? Sounds like a lot of fun now."  
  
"Well, you've been taking Japanese for the past couple years and I figured you'd like a chance to try it out."  
  
"What do my classes have to do. you're going to Japan?"  
  
Greg smiled. "I thought you'd like to come."  
  
A broad smile spread across Richie's face. "You wanna take me to Japan?" he asked just to make sure he hadn't misinterpreted anything.  
  
"Yes. Heather, too, if she'd like. All expenses paid, of course, all you need to get is a passport."  
  
"Yeah?" Richie asked excitedly. Then his grin faded. "What about basketball? We have a game one of those weeks, and Coach is big on practices right now."  
  
"I already checked; you'll be home in time for the game."  
  
"What about the practices before?"  
  
"You'll be home four days before the game. And I'm sure Roberts will give the team at least a week off. Plus you can miss a practice."  
  
"Not really, I've missed a lot."  
  
"Just a couple," Greg said.  
  
"I'm the captain, Dad, I can't slack off."  
  
"Good point, why don't I have a little talk with Coach Roberts and get this all worked out," he offered.  
  
"No, I can handle it. I'll talk to him and if I'm sure I can go; I'll talk to Heather."  
  
"Okay. I'm sure you two will have a lot of fun. Will she want her own room?" Greg asked.  
  
"Probably not. We share her room all the time when I stay at her parent's house. And we don't know if we can go, yet."  
  
"I'm sure you will."  
  
. . . . . .  
  
Two weeks later Richie took some of his stuff back to Greg's. While he didn't keep as much as he used to over there, he decided it was best to let Greg know he wasn't completely angry with him anymore. He continued on his usual schedule, school, work, practice, school, practice, work, practice, practice, work, school. One day he over heard some of Heather's sorority sisters talking while he was waiting for her to come down. Apparently the school had hired a replacement for Professor Miller.  
  
"He's so cute," one of the girls said. "He had this great accent and he makes it sound like he was actually there."  
  
"Really?" the other girl asked.  
  
"What does he look like?" asked a third. 'Freshman,' Richie thought rolling his eyes. 'Fresh from High School.'  
  
"He's tall and lean and he has the cutest nose." the first described.  
  
That was when Heather came down and the new professor was quickly pushed to the back of his mind. They went out to dinner and decided to walk around campus since the weather was so nice.  
  
"So are you going camping again this Christmas?" Heather asked him.  
  
"I don't know," Richie said. "I don't know if I want to be trapped with Dad as my only company for the entire time. I might go home this year."  
  
"I'm sure Duncan would like that."  
  
"Probably," Richie agreed. They walked some more. Suddenly Richie stopped. He grabbed Heather's hand and pulled her to a stop as well. There was an immortal near by.  
  
"What's wrong?"  
  
Richie fished in his pockets for his keys, feeling the reassuring weight of his saber tucked in his coat. "Here," he handed her his keys. "I know this is going to sound stupid, but someone is following us. So I want you to stay close, but if I tell you to run, go straight to my car and go back to the sorority house. I'll meet you there later. Okay?" he rambled urgently.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Heather! Just promise, okay?"  
  
"Do you think it's another kidnapper?" she asked worriedly.  
  
Richie paused a second. "Maybe. okay. I don't want him to get you, too. So when it's safe, I'll tell you to run, got it?"  
  
"Okay," she nodded.  
  
"Hey," he smiled. "Don't be scared; I'll take care of you, promise." Richie stiffened as the immortal stepped around the corner of the history building. "Figures."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Shh. Who's there?"  
  
"I would never hurt a lady," the stranger replied.  
  
Richie instantly relaxed; he knew that sarcastic tone. "What are you doing here?" he asked walking to him. He gave Heather a little tug so she would follow him. "Heather, you remember Adam. the ass," Richie said with a slight grin.  
  
"Nice to see you again, Heather," Adam said pleasantly.  
  
"You really scared us," Heather said with a smile.  
  
"Likewise."  
  
"So what are you doing here?" Richie asked.  
  
"A man has to make a living," Adam shrugged.  
  
"You're the new history prof?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Did Mac put you up to this?"  
  
"Why would you say that?"  
  
"Sounds like something he would do," Richie told him.  
  
"Well, relax, I'm no wet nurse. I'm not here to baby sit. I'm here to make some money. MacLeod doesn't even know I'm here."  
  
"Once he finds out, he's gonna want you to spy on me."  
  
"And what makes you think I will?"  
  
Richie grinned. "I forgot; this is you we're talking about. Thanks, man."  
  
"Someone has to give you some dignity."  
  
Richie chuckled a little. "Thanks. See you around."  
  
"Bye, Adam," Heather said.  
  
"You can do better," he reminded her as the pair walked away.  
  
. . . . . .  
  
Christmas came and Richie went to Paris. He celebrated his first Christmas since returning to the Jewish faith. He helped Duncan get ready for Christmas as usual, but held his own, little, private Hanukkah celebration in his room. He set up a menorah on his bookshelf. Every night he said the blessings as he lit the candles, prayed for a little while, then blew them out. He had never left candles lit for too long on the barge because he was always scared they would fall over and start a fire. Duncan had warned him a thousand times that just because he was used to the motion of the boat and no longer noticed it, didn't mean it wasn't there. He had meant to keep Richie from leaving half-drunk glasses of juice around the barge and ended up making him paranoid half the time.  
  
On the sixth night, he left his room and went out to read on the couch like he always did. But instead of teasing him as usual, Duncan sat on the coffee table and stared at him.  
  
"What?" Richie asked.  
  
"Why didn't you tell me?"  
  
"Um.you see, Mac, I," Richie started to explain automatically, then stopped. "Tell you what?" In answer Duncan reached up and took Richie's yarmulke off his head. "Oh." Richie's hand automatically went to where the cap had been. "That. I wasn't ready to yet?"  
  
"What's with you and secrets?"  
  
"Mac, this isn't a secret. I just wanted to figure out how I felt about it first. It's still new to me."  
  
"When did you decide?"  
  
"Earlier this year."  
  
"Why Judaism?" Duncan asked.  
  
Richie shrugged. "'Cause I'm Jewish."  
  
"Since when?"  
  
He shrugged again. "Always, I guess." Duncan raised his eyebrows. "Explanation time, right?"  
  
"You bet." Richie took a deep breath before giving him his story from Emily to Steven.  
  
Duncan took a second to take it all in. "So, you didn't have your first real Christmas with Tessa and me, you had your first Christmas, period?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"And you didn't say anything because of what happened at Mamma Nikki's."  
  
"Right."  
  
"I don't know weather to feel sorry for you or mad that you didn't trust us. We would have never kicked you out. And for that matter I never will."  
  
"Mac, com'on, I know that now. I didn't then. It's just always been my experience that when people find out you're different, it only causes trouble."  
  
"Richie, that's not true," Duncan told him. "Being different is good."  
  
"That's why you waited how long to tell Tessa you were immortal?"  
  
"Okay," he allowed. "Immortality doesn't count. Religions don't matter."  
  
"Tell that to the Nazis and the people who almost burned down Mamma Nikki's house, and .."  
  
"Okay. It doesn't matter to people who care about you," Duncan corrected.  
  
"I know, Mac."  
  
"Then how come you're hiding who you are?"  
  
"'Cause I don't know if this is me," Richie told him. "It was. a long time ago. but I've changed since then. I might not stick with this and I didn't see any reason to tell anyone if it's just a phase."  
  
"Rich, I think this is more than a phase. If you're having closet Hanukkah celebrations, you must be serious about this."  
  
"Maybe. I just didn't want to."  
  
"Rich," Duncan interrupted. "Listen to me, okay?" He pulled the boy close by grabbing the chain of the necklace he had given him years ago. "I know you still care about me because you still wear this."  
  
"Mac."  
  
"Shh. And since you don't have any heirlooms to give me, you just have to trust that I care about you. Religion doesn't matter to me."  
  
"Mac, how come everything always boils down to abandonment issues with you?"  
  
"Because that's usually what it is."  
  
"Well, this time it's not. It strictly a, 'I'm not sure yet' thing. All right? I out grew that abandonment thing a long time ago."  
  
Duncan just smiled. "If you say so."  
  
Richie spent the rest of vacation catching up with everyone. He helped Joe out at the bar serving drinks and unloading trucks. He played chess with Darius a few times. He visited Tessa and spent the whole day talking to her and telling her how much she would have loved Heather.  
  
"Don't tell anyone," he told her. "But I'm gonna propose. Next year. I have it all planned. Too bad you couldn't help me."  
  
He flew home a week before classes started for basketball practices. Coach was getting worse and the team was more determined than ever to win.  
  
AN: Sorry it took so long to update! I promise they will be more frequent. I'm going to concentrate on this an FT only for a while. But the sequel to ABANDONMENT is in the works! 


	32. PreGame Jitters

Practice ran long and hard. By the time Coach told them to run their laps, everyone was drenched in sweat. A pile of abandoned practice jerseys lay in a soggy, smelly heap on the bleachers. No one had even been more grateful to hear "Hit the showers!" Richie ran through a quick, cold shower and went straight to work.  
  
For the rest of the evening, Richie waited on tables; all the while wanting to feed himself. His stomach growled louder each time he had to carry a tray of hamburgers to a table of fellow students. Finally, his sections cleared and he was done for the night. He was too tired to drive home and cook so he turned in an order so it could cook while he closed his tables. He finished sweeping up dropped fries and spilt salt when a football player told him his food was ready. He was just about to take a big bite out of his grilled chicken sandwich when his boss came over to him.  
  
"Put it down; you have a table."  
  
"I closed my section," Richie protested before he could stop himself.  
  
"Special request. I'll put it in the warmer. Table 28," he added picking up Richie's sandwich and cheese fries.  
  
Richie took a second to pout before forcing himself to be pleasant and go serve the jerk who did this to him. A slight buzz told him that it was Greg, Adam, or Duncan; so he went to the bar and got a beer first.  
  
"I hate you," he said putting the beer down in front of Adam. "I was just about to eat."  
  
"Then you can join me. I'd like the double bacon cheeseburger."  
  
Richie went into the kitchen and saw his food sitting in the warmer. "I'll give you my tip if you make it fast," Richie told the sophomore cook.  
  
Not ten minutes later, Richie slid into the booth across from Adam with his sandwich and fries in front of him. They chatted pleasantly while they ate. Richie didn't realize that anything he was doing was wrong until he spotted his boss approaching them.  
  
"Uh-oh."  
  
"What?"  
  
"My boss."  
  
"Ryan, may I have a word with you?" the portly, once athletic man asked.  
  
"I'm sure I can explain," Adam said before Richie could answer. "I invited him to join me."  
  
"Are you in the habit of eating with strangers, Ryan?" the owner asked, looking down at Richie who shifted in the booth.  
  
"I know him," Adam explained. "I used to baby sit him all the time in Washington. He's like a younger brother; I didn't mean to get him in trouble. That's actually why I waited so long to come in."  
  
"Oh, old friends, eh? Just don't make it a habit, Ryan." He left them to their dinner.  
  
"Thanks, man," Richie said. "I didn't even realize I shouldn't be doing this."  
  
"You were eating anyway, so I assume that means you were done. Aren't you off the clock, now?"  
  
"I was until you asked for me to serve you, I'm supposedly working again."  
  
"Oh, well, no harm done." Adam went back to his burger and fries.  
  
"Babysitter?" Richie suddenly asked.  
  
"Father was taken. What was I supposed to say, brother? You're adopted, remember?"  
  
"Yeah, yeah, what do you want, anyway?"  
  
"Why would I want something?"  
  
"Because you're only around me when you have to be. I can't comp alcohol so if that's what you're after you wasted your time."  
  
"Is that all you think I care about, beer?"  
  
"You care about beer more than you care about me."  
  
Adam put his burger down. "Now why would you say that?"  
  
"It's true, isn't it?" Richie asked casually; he had always assumed Adam didn't like him and it had never bothered him.  
  
"Just because I don't pamper you like MacLeod and Dawson doesn't mean I don't like you."  
  
"And that's why you're always telling Mac to get rid of me?"  
  
"You mean give you your independence? You know you're tired of him being there every time you turn around."  
  
"Hey, I've had times when there was no one there. If I had to choose between the two; I'd keep what I got."  
  
"You just need a chance to see what you can do on your own."  
  
"Are you lecturing me?" Richie asked. "The king of mooching is telling me to do it myself? That's rich."  
  
"I'm just telling you, you can't depend on your teacher for much longer. Every student has to go out on their own," Adam told him reasonably. "I think it's almost your time."  
  
"I'm not. okay, so I'm a little dependent on Mac right now, but only financially and it won't be much longer," Richie defended.  
  
"Most students have had several teachers by the time they've been immortal as long as you have, Richie. What happens when you run into an immortal that MacLeod's training can't overcome? Do you think MacLeod only had one teacher?" Richie just stared at him. Adam sighed. "You were practicing with Miller, right?"  
  
"Right. So?"  
  
"So practice with me. Let me teach you some of the things MacLeod would never show you. They'll keep you alive."  
  
"You teach me? I don't think Mac would be very happy about that."  
  
"You really are the little Boy Scout he wants you to be, aren't you? Do you always do things just to make MacLeod happy?" Adam asked. "I can show you how to survive. You're one of the youngest immortals in the game. You're facing immortals with hundreds of years of experience on you and while you've managed to survive so far, luck will only take you so far. The gathering is drawing nearer with every passing day, Richie. One day you may end up fighting MacLeod. As much as you love him, are you ready to die? Train with me. Give yourself a fighting chance. Don't make MacLeod mourn you before he has too." Richie still stared. "You have the chance to become an ancient, Richie. You can adapt to life as it changes. But you won't get far without help. Let me help you overcome MacLeod's Boy Scout leanings and help you survive in an old man's game."  
  
Richie sat there looking at the ancient immortal across from him. Adam was serious. "You're gonna teach me to cheat?"  
  
"Yes," Adam admitted. "Among other things."  
  
"But what about all the rules and junk?"  
  
"Screw the rules. Most immortals won't play by them. I'll also teach you other things you'll need to know."  
  
"Like what?"  
  
"Like how to change your identity. MacLeod's a fool keeping his name all these years. Look at Conner, he has some sense at least. I'll also show you how to set up your finances so that your money will follow you where ever you go and how to make money so you can afford to live for a 1000 years. Somehow I don't think MacLeod has taught you that, has he?"  
  
"No, he hasn't." Richie thought for a while, picking at his food. "Okay. Name the time and place and I'll be there." He stopped. "I'm not going down without a fight."  
  
. . . . . .  
  
Richie walked into the locker room ready for yet another grueling practice. It had been nearly a month since Adam had showed up. Training with Adam was very different from training with Duncan. Adam was more relaxed and not every bit of his training involved a sword. He had taught Richie better, faster, and cleaner ways of hacking on the computer as well as how to forge identification papers for when he needed a new identity. With Adam's relaxed attitude Coach Roberts' rigid practices were almost a welcome change in Richie's daily schedule. So, when Richie walked into a locker room of teammates sitting on benches in their street clothes he was slightly confused.  
  
"What's going on?" he asked a freshman. "Why hasn't anyone dressed out?"  
  
"No practice; Coach called a meeting."  
  
"Oh."  
  
"Everyone in the gym!" someone called.  
  
The team filled out of the locker room and clumped together on the bleachers. Richie sat toward the back as he always did and discussed theories for what the meeting was about. The basic consensus was the Coach Roberts was too ill to coach and they had to forfeit the rest of the season. After a couple minutes, Coach Roberts came into the gym with the rarely seen assistant coach behind him.  
  
"Well, boys, I have some news," Coach Roberts started. "I'm not going to be able to actively coach you for the Final Four." There was a collective groan from the team. "Hey, don't do that. Coach Grath will be active coach for the remainder of the season."  
  
"I've played on this team for three years. I've been wondering who that guy was," Richie whispered to the player sitting next to him. "I just thought he liked to watch us practice." The other player had to use his hand to smother his laugh.  
  
"So, for today practice is cancelled so Coach Grath, Ryan and I can discuss our strategies. So, unless there are any basketball related questions, dismissed. Ryan, in my office."  
  
Richie hovered near the door when the two coaches came in.  
  
"Take a seat, Ryan," Roberts instructed. Richie sat across from the desk. "How do you think the team is taking it?"  
  
"I think we're all a bit shocked. This is kinda sudden, sir."  
  
"I've held out as long as I could."  
  
"I know," Richie assured him. "We all know, and we appreciate it. It just sucks that we made it this far and now we don't have you."  
  
"You boys have to play. I'm not taking you out of the running because I'm sick."  
  
"I know, Coach. It's just not the same. We'll win; I'll make sure of that."  
  
"Good. Now I want you and Coach Grath to talk strategy and get used to working together. I'll see you at practice soon." Coach Roberts got up and offered Coach Grath the chair behind the desk. "You and the boys show him the same respect you show me, understand, Ryan?"  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
. . . . . .  
  
Coach Grath was an inexperienced coach who had started assisting Coach Roberts the same year Richie started playing for him. The new coach was admittedly intimidated and left most of the decisions up to Richie, who decided to assemble a coaching staff of his own out of the starting players. For spring break they broke into practice teams; each team had a three day camp over spring break in which they ran drills and held scrimmages to learn new plays. The starting players were each assigned to a team and helped Richie run the practices. That way the team got a bit of break and some good practice time in. Because of the schedule, Richie couldn't go to Japan and never even bothered to mention the trip to Heather.  
  
Between the extra and longer practices, tutoring fellow teammates, working, training with Adam, and keeping up with his school work Richie was exhausted every night. He even called Heather one night to say that besides lunch between classes he wouldn't be around much. He apologized every time he saw her and told her how much he appreciated her understanding and promised an amazing date after it was all over.  
  
The strenuous practice was taking a toll on the team, so Coach Grath spoke with the owner of The Stadium and got the players that wanted to be, taken off the schedule. Life settled down a little after that, but not soon after that the competition really heated up. The papers were filled with news on the competing teams. The numbers dwindled slowly until there were only two teams remaining; Southern Missouri University and Oklahoma University.  
  
Duncan flew down to Missouri for the game. He wasn't surprised when he found out Adam was going to the game as well; despite what the older immortal liked to pretend, he had a soft spot for the kid. He was, however, surprised when Adam picked him up at the airport and took him to his house instead of a hotel.  
  
"Didn't I tell you?" Adam asked. "I'm training your Cub Scout, now. I don't think he'll be trying for his eagle award."  
  
"What are you teaching him?"  
  
"Everything you won't."  
  
"If anything happens to him I'm coming after you," Duncan warned him.  
  
It was the day before the game and Richie was to meet Duncan and Adam for dinner at Lambert's. He had told them all about it and had peeked their curiosity. So at six Friday evening Richie pulled his Land Rover into the parking lot. He saw Adam's black SUV and followed the buzz to their table.  
  
"Hey, Rich!" Duncan greeted enthusiastically. "You excited?"  
  
"Nervous as hell," Richie answered, running his fingers through his still damp from his after practice shower hair.  
  
"You'll be great," he assured him as Richie slid into the booth next to him.  
  
"I'm gonna blow the game."  
  
"What?"  
  
"It's what I do," Richie answered. "I always blow the big game. I should take myself out for the good of the team."  
  
"Do you always have these irrational thoughts before the big game?" Adam asked casually, not looking up form his menu.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Then you'll be fine. Are we ready to order then?"  
  
Then came the call Richie had been waiting for. "WHO WANTS BREAD!!!"  
  
Richie smiled and raised his hand. Slowly Duncan followed. Adam abstained. "It's worth it," Richie told him. Adam raised his hand. Not a minute later Duncan and Adam got their first throwed rolls. Richie seemed to calm down as the meal progressed and seemed his old self as they said goodbye. 


	33. Good News and Bad News

Joe's bar was silent. "This is it," the announcer smiled to the camera. "It has boiled down to two teams. The Cougars and Sooners are vying for the top spot in the big twelve. The Cougars had a bit of a set back with the early retirement of Head Coach Gerald Roberts. Roberts left the team in the hands of Assistant Coach James Grath, whose tactics seem to be working well for the team. The Oklahoma Sooners have been on fire this season. Their captain, Michael Keenan, has been pushing his team harder than ever in preparation for this game. Both teams are at their best. We are promised a close scoring and exciting game."  
  
The stadium was packed. There wasn't an empty seat in the house. Duncan, Adam, and Greg had bought seats right behind the Cougar's bench. There were a few die hard Cougars' fans between Duncan and Adam and Greg so they didn't have to pretend to get along. Although Greg did say "My boy's number 23. the captain, Richie Ryan" a little louder than necessary when talking to the man sitting beside him. The O'Neals were a few rows further back. Richie had pulled every string he could find to get them good seats for the sold out game.  
  
The audience was a sea of purple and crimson separated by almost a perfect line down the center of the stadium. Cheers had already started up even though the players were still in the locker rooms.  
  
The Cougars gathered in a small herd in the middle of the locker room. The room was silent. Players self consciously adjusted their uniforms and retied their shoes.  
  
"Alright guys!" Richie said trying to sound calm and confident. "This is it. We busted our butts to get here. In a few hours it will all be over. We get one shot here so we have got to make it count. Remember what we've been practicing. We have a real shot at this. We deserve to win just as much as anyone else. But if we want this, we have to take it. It's not gonna be handed to us. OU wants this just as bad as we do. They're gonna give us a fight for it. We have to fight back and give them hell for it; give them everything we've got; give them a real run for their money. We can do this. We got this far; there isn't any reason to stop here. Until that last buzzer sounds, this isn't a game; this is our life. I have every confidence that we will walk out of here champions and you guys should, too. There is no reason for us to be number two when we have the ability to be number one. Anyone got anything to say before we go out there?"  
  
"Kick some ass!"  
  
"Bomb the Sooners!"  
  
"Go Cougs!"  
  
"Coach?" Richie offered Coach Grath the floor.  
  
"You boys have some amazing talents. I haven't done anything to get you here. You did it yourselves. I'm proud of you boys and I know Coach Roberts is, too. Let's win it for him."  
  
"YEAH!!!!" the team yelled.  
  
The lights went out in the stadium as the teams lined up in the wings ready to run out onto the court. The players took turns running out onto the court as their name was announced. Fans cheered for their favorite team and players. Next came the good sportsmanship rituals. The captains and coaches shook hands.  
  
"You're going down," Keenan said with a friendly smile.  
  
"Best two out of three?" Richie offered.  
  
"Good luck, man."  
  
"You, too."  
  
Then the game began. Players ran back and forth across the court, chasing the ball for all they were worth. Each team had scored over 50 points by the end of the first quarter. Richie's usually easily divertable attention was focused souly on the game. He only glanced at the stands once during the three-minute break between quarters.  
  
The buzzer sounded and the second quarter began. The Cougars sporadically switched players and positions to throw off the Sooners' defense. Buy the end of the first half both teams were stuck just below 90.  
  
As soon as the teams left the court, Duncan's cell phone rang. It was Joe and Amanda calling from the bar.  
  
"Of course we saw it," Duncan said. "We're right here... okay. okay, I'll have him call you tonight. okay, Joe. Bye."  
  
"Duncan?" a voice asked from the aisle.  
  
Duncan looked up. "Heather! It's nice to see you again. How are you doing?" He stood up, as did Adam beside him.  
  
"My parents have been dying to meet you, so I thought I'd bring them down. This is my father, Steven, and my stepmother, Melinda. Dad, Melinda, this is Duncan MacLeod and Adam Pierson."  
  
They exchanged greetings. "Richie's quite the young man," Steven said smiling at Duncan. "And quite a ball player."  
  
"He was playing basketball long before I got a hold of him," Duncan said. "I just had to let him go to the park every Sunday."  
  
"He's a true gentlemen," Melinda added.  
  
"I'll take credit for some of that. He really was pretty well raised by the time I got him. I just threw on the finishing touches."  
  
"Richie speaks very highly of both of you," Steven said. "We've heard a lot about you."  
  
"He's told us a lot about you, too," Adam piped up. "Apparently he's in love with your fried chicken," he told Melinda.  
  
"That's the first thing he told us about when we saw him at Christmas his freshman year. He'd never had homemade fried anything before," Duncan added.  
  
In the Cougar's locker room, the players had gathered silently in the Coach's office. Coach Grath dialed the phone and put it on speaker.  
  
"Hello?" a woman answered.  
  
"May I speak to Coach Roberts, please?" Coach Grath asked politely.  
  
"One minute."  
  
They could hear the phone exchange hands. "Roberts."  
  
"COACH!" the team loudly answered.  
  
"Hi, boys! I've been watching the game. I'm impressed."  
  
"Why ain't ya here, Coach?" a player asked from somewhere amid the sweaty congregation.  
  
"I'm afraid that wasn't an option. But I am watching. You boys are doing great." He rattled off a list of plays that he had been impressed by and a few that needed to be improved. "But you boys are doing great. You're going to win; I can feel it."  
  
"Okay, boys; we need to get back to the game," Coach Grath announced. He took the phone to the door so each player had a chance to say something to Coach Roberts before they left the office. Richie was the last to leave.  
  
"It's in the bag, Coach."  
  
"I'm proud of you boys. They're in good hands with you, Ryan."  
  
"Thanks, Coach."  
  
The third quarter was fast paced and low scoring. The players were concentrating on keeping the other team from scoring. The third quarter ended in a tie: 97 to 97.  
  
Coach Grath called a time out and the team huddled together. "Alright, boys, this is it. We need to keep possession of the ball as much as possible. They're seeing through our defense, which means we have to change it up. We're not putting players in by seniority; it all depends on how well they read you. I want Cooper and Lamb at the top of the key, Swim at center, Foster and Rowley at post. The rest of you boys will get your chance. I want you five on the court the rest of you sit down, catch your breath and keep your energy up. when I say you're in, you're in. When you're out, you're out. I want to get as many people on that court as possible so no arguing. Got it?" They nodded. "Okay hands in, on three. One, two three."  
  
"COUGS!"  
  
Cooper, Lamb, Swim, Foster and Rowley went on the court and the rest sat on the bench. There was no time for the benched players to carry on a conversation. Every minute or so, Grath would switch two players out. Richie patiently waited his turn. He did his best to ignore Greg's yells of "Why the hell is my boy out of the game? What's wrong Coach, you stupid?" Richie turned and looked for Duncan and Adam, spotted them, yelled to get their attention and waved. They smiled and waved back. Duncan had that same 'Proud Papa' look he had had when Richie announced to everyone that he was going to college and had made the basketball team. He was just about to look for the O'Neals when Grath yelled his name.  
  
"Ryan, take Smith's place. Go!"  
  
After a quick check in, Richie was on the court again with two minutes and twenty-six seconds on the clock. The score was tied 128 to 128 and the Sooners had the ball. They broke the Cougar's defense and scored.  
  
It was now 130 to 128.  
  
The ball was passed around the court so fast it was hard for even the players to keep up with where the ball was as they ran up and down the court in a small herd. Suddenly, Richie found himself at the top of the key with the ball in his hands. He took a chance and shot the ball and scored a three-pointer.  
  
130 to 131.  
  
A few seconds after that the Cougars scored again.  
  
130 to 133.  
  
The Sooners now had possession and ran the ball to their side of the court. They passed the ball around to kill time and then scored a three pointer.  
  
133 to 133.  
  
"Cougars have the ball," the TV announcer said. "Feingold passes to Ryan, Ryan to Allen, back to Feingold who shoots and. denied! The Sooners take the rebound and Lubbers takes it down the court, passes it to Douglas, Douglas sends it to Washington, Washington shoots and is fouled by Gonzales from Missouri. The players line up for the foul shots. Washington shoots. and misses. He prepares for his next shot and makes it!"  
  
134 to 133.  
  
"Cougars get the ball again with less than a minute remaining. Allen passes to Young, Young to. intercepted by Lubbers who shoots for the Sooners and misses! The Cougars take the rebound. Young takes it down the court, passes to Allen, Allen to Feingold, Ryan's open at the bottom of the key just waiting for the ball. Feingold pivots and sends it to Gonzales, Gonzales to Ryan. Ryan looks for his shot, but Jacobs is all over him, ten seconds to go. Ryan's looking. FOUL!!! Foul on Richie Ryan by Anthony Jacobs. If Ryan can make these two shot, the Cougars win the game. If not, they have five seconds to try again."  
  
"Two shots, son," the ref told Richie handing him the ball. Richie nodded his understanding. "Whenever you're ready."  
  
Richie held the ball for a second, and then bounced it a few times. He lined up his shot, took a minute to attempt to relax and took the shot.  
  
134 to 134.  
  
"This is it, Ladies and Gentlemen," the announcer said. "If Ryan makes this shot, it's all over."  
  
The ref gave Richie the ball back. The stadium was silent as Richie bounced the ball. He took it in his hands, looked at the basket, closed his eyes, and took his shot. He heard the ball hit the rim and opened his eyes.. The ball bounced around taking its dear, sweet time, deciding on if it would go in or not. The players under the basket stiffened and Richie fell to his knees as the ball tipped off the basket and back into play.  
  
The audience let out a collective groan that suddenly turned into cheers as the buzzer sounded. 'I lost it,' Richie thought. 'I let the whole team down. with a stupid free throw.' He was on the verge of letting himself cry out of frustration when people started screaming around him and slapping his back.  
  
"We did it!" The Cougars yelled repeatedly.  
  
Richie looked up at the scoreboard, 134 to 136. The Cougars had won. Richie took no time in letting himself get swept into the excitement and was soon bouncing around and screaming with his teammates. The center of the court turned into a mosh pit as the players collected around each other bouncing, screaming, hugging, swinging their jerseys over their heads and rough housing in celebration of their victory.  
  
"Ladies and Gentlemen!" a voice said over the PA system "I give you the 1997 Big Twelve Champions the South Missouri University Cougars!"  
  
The fans were screaming, the players were screaming.. The stadium was in an uproar. 'We Are the Champions' started playing. It took the Cougars a good five minutes to get off the court.  
  
Reporters were lining the hall to the locker room yelling questions to the players as they passed. The players would stop periodically and answer one but most were intent on showering, getting through the press conference, and getting to the after party at the Stadium.  
  
Richie got cornered by a news crew from New York. "How do you feel, Ryan?" the reporter asked.  
  
"I'm elated, excited, stoked. I'm really proud of what we did. I admit, I kinda freaked there at the end, but we did it."  
  
"What have you learned for the experience?"  
  
"Never underestimate what can happen in five seconds."  
  
"What are you going to do now?"  
  
"Well, I'm smell pretty bad, so I guess I'll go take care of that," Richie said with a smile.  
  
The reporter laughed. "Thank you and congratulations."  
  
"Thanks."  
  
Eventually the players made it to the locker room and got into the shower. Their excitement didn't wash away with their sweat. A loud chorus of 'Bomb the Sooners' could be heard clearly in the hallway.  
  
Twenty minutes later, the press was assembled in the press room as the team filed in wearing suits and ties. Flashbulbs began going off the second they entered the room. The team clumped onto the small platform behind the podium. Coach Grath stood beside them; he had already told the reports Richie and the other players would be fielding the questions. Richie stepped up to the podium first.  
  
"Ryan, how did it feel when you thought you blew the game?" a reporter asked.  
  
Richie had to laugh at the bluntness of the question. "Um. I was about three seconds from crying. I felt horrible. and I feel even worse because it never occurred to me that we could still score if I missed."  
  
"What was your plan going into the game?" another reporter asked.  
  
"Coach Grath wanted to get everyone on the court. He wanted everyone to have a chance to score. Which we all thought was really cool. So our plan was to do as much as we could with as many as we could."  
  
"Did you expect the game to play out as it did?"  
  
Richie stepped back and let Feingold answer the question. "We were expecting to have to really fight to get what we wanted. We knew OU was going to be in top condition so we had to be, too. We worked hard and knew that if we played right, we'd win."  
  
"How did working with a new Coach affect your game?"  
  
John answered this one. "He had some great new ideas for us to try out. We had a bit of a self-coaching system. We divided into teams and played each other to try out new plays and their defenses."  
  
"What do you have to say to the Sooners now that you won?"  
  
Richie stepped up to the podium before anyone could answer. "They gave us everything we were expecting and then some. They played really well. We thank them for a great game."  
  
"How did your team take the news of Coach Roberts' death?"  
  
The team, who had been horsing around behind the podium, froze. Richie swallowed hard and looked behind him. His teammates looked as he knew he did. horrified and about to loose it on camera.  
  
"This is how we take it," he said. "No one told us.. I think that's it for now." He and the team left the room in stunned silence. 


	34. The furneral

"I'm really sorry, Mrs. Roberts," Richie said to Coach Roberts' wife later that night on the phone. "He was a great guy, practically a father to every guy on the team. I'll make sure everyone comes to the funeral Friday. Bye." He hung up.  
  
He lay on his bed staring at the walls Greg had painted a light blue two summers before. The whole room was shades of blue. Blue walls, blue shelves, blue carpet, and blue bedclothes. Richie had never thought of it before. but it was an extremely blue room. He didn't even really like blue. Tessa had put him in blue a lot when she bought him clothes. He hadn't really minded; all his foster mothers liked to dress him in blue. Greg was the one who liked blue. Richie had gotten no say in how his room was decorated. His room at the team house had been painted in the school colors years before he had gotten there, so he hadn't decided there either, but Greg deciding for him rubbed him the wrong way. There was a soft knock on his door.  
  
"Rich?"  
  
"Come on in, Mac," Richie said sitting up.  
  
"Do you want to be alone?" Duncan offered as he opened the door.  
  
"You're fine."  
  
"I just wanted to check on you. Adam said to give you this," he added handing Richie a bottle of beer.  
  
Richie smiled faintly for a second as he took the beer then went back to studying the walls. There were framed pictures of Richie's childhood sports heroes, a few of Greg, one of Richie's basketball team at the Y, and one of Richie and Greg from when Richie was ten.  
  
"What are you thinking?" Duncan asked as Richie took the picture of him and Greg off the wall.  
  
"I don't like blue," Richie said.  
  
"You wear blue all the time," Duncan pointed out, wondering where this was leading.  
  
"Yeah, but I don't like it."  
  
"May I ask why you are worrying about this?"  
  
"I'm just saying. You asked what I was thinking. and I think I don't like blue."  
  
"I'm going to bring up one more point then we can drop it. You're whole room is blue."  
  
"I know," Richie said looking around again. "And I don't like it."  
  
"Then why did you do it like this?"  
  
"I didn't. Dad did. I came home one day and it was all blue. Just like my room when I was a kid."  
  
"Then redo it."  
  
"I don't think he'd let me."  
  
"Richie, are you okay?" Duncan asked. "You seem a little off."  
  
"I'm fine, Mac."  
  
"Who were you talking to?"  
  
"When?"  
  
"Just now, on the phone."  
  
"Mrs. Roberts. She had called me at the team house and left a message."  
  
"Do you want to talk about it?"  
  
"What's there to talk about? He died, Mac. We all knew it was coming."  
  
"And?"  
  
"And I don't want to talk about it."  
  
"Fine. but if you ever do."  
  
"Mac I know. Just because I'm a little out of it right now, doesn't mean you have to talk to me like I'm still in diapers."  
  
"Sorry."  
  
They sat in silence. "I really liked him," Richie said staring at his desk. "I know he was old and sick. but. I even knew this was coming and I'm not ready. I know it's selfish. but. I wanted him to at least see us win it for him. I promised him we'd do it and he died before we did."  
  
"Seeing you miss that shot nearly killed me; you should be grateful Coach didn't have to watch," Greg said from the doorway.  
  
Duncan immediately jumped to Richie's defense. "How can you say something like that to him?"  
  
"You missed a free throw," Greg continued to scold Richie, ignoring Duncan. "That's the easiest shot there is. Nobody was guarding you. You had all the time you wanted. And what did you do? You choked!"  
  
"Dad, don't start," Richie said quietly.  
  
"You could have won the game. You should have won the game! I taught you everything I knew about the game. The set up couldn't have been more perfect for you to show the world that you're just as good as your dad. instead you blew the whole thing."  
  
"I don't know if you noticed, but we won," Richie snapped. "AND this has nothing to do with you! I wasn't trying to show anybody anything. I just wanted to win and we did. So what's the big deal?"  
  
"The big deal is you let me down," Greg told him.  
  
"You know something? I don't even know why we're talking about this. The game doesn't matter any more. Coach died today, Dad. Why are you freaking about the game?"  
  
"You let me down!"  
  
"It's just a game!"  
  
"Greg, leave him alone," Duncan cut in.  
  
"Oh, that's right; I forgot. your bodyguard is here."  
  
"Get off it!" Richie yelled, standing up. "This is ridiculous! You are the most heartless control freak I have ever met!"  
  
"Watch your tone, young man."  
  
"NO! Stop telling me what to do! I can take care of myself!"  
  
"You're about to have to," Greg warned him. "I am your father and I will not allow you to act like this in my home. I don't know who you think you are, but let me set you straight. You are my son and you will do as you are told. Do you understand me?"  
  
"Get out," Richie told him in a low voice.  
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
"I said get out."  
  
"I believe this is my."  
  
"GET OUT!" Richie yelled in his face, pointing at the door.  
  
"You have ten minutes to pack your things," Greg told him. "Until you learn to behave like an adult, I will not allow you to live in my house." He turned and left.  
  
"I was going to LEAVE ANYWAY!" Richie yelled down the hall at him before slamming his door.  
  
"Richie," Duncan started. Richie turned and glared at him. "I'll wait for you downstairs."  
  
"Mac," Richie said as Duncan opened the door. "I'm not."  
  
"I know. I'll be downstairs."  
  
Duncan went into the living room where Adam was waiting.  
  
"I hear we've been invited to leave," Adam said.  
  
"Once Richie comes down," Duncan agreed.  
  
Five minutes later, Richie thundered down the stairs. "Let's go," he said not looking at Greg.  
  
"Richard," Greg said.  
  
"What?"  
  
"I'm disappointed in you."  
  
"I don't give a shit."  
  
"When you're ready to apologize."  
  
"Hell will have frozen over. Let's go," he said turning for the door. Adam followed with a slight smirk on his face.  
  
"If you give him any trouble," Duncan warned Greg. "I'll kill you."  
  
. . . . . .  
  
The team filed to the front of the church. Mrs. Roberts had asked that they all say something at the funeral.  
  
"Coach was an awesome man," a freshman said. "He always made you feel like you were part of his family. He always had time for you if you needed to talk about anything. I just wish I had more time to play for him."  
  
"My brother played for Coach a few years ago," a sophomore told everyone. "Every vacation, he would come home and tell us how cool he was. I just had to see for myself. I wasn't disappointed. If anything, Coach was better than my brother ever told us. He was the best coach I've ever played for."  
  
"Coach gave everyone a chance," Young said with tears in his eyes. "He would do everything he could to make sure everything worked out for you. He had high standards and he held us to them, but if we fell short, he made sure we had the help we needed. He was a very understanding man and I know we're all going to miss him."  
  
Richie went last. "I've known Coach since I was eight. I used to go to all of the home games when he coached for Washington. I remember him taking me out on the court so I could show him what I'd learned. Even if it was something as stupid as dribbling the ball, he made me feel like I was the only person in the world who knew how to do it. The only dream I ever had was getting to play for him. I knew him for fourteen years and it still wasn't enough."  
  
Later on that night, Duncan went to the team house to say good bye to Richie before he headed back home. Nobody knew where he was. It took some looking but Duncan finally found him, still dressed from the funeral, sitting in the cemetery staring at Coach Roberts' tombstone.  
  
"Thought you might be here," Duncan said, sitting next to him.  
  
"Wasn't ready to leave, yet," Richie answered his cheeks still stained from crying. Duncan sat quietly waiting for Richie to talk. "It's not fair," Richie nearly whispered. "How come everyone dies, but I can't?"  
  
"Richie, nobody knows why some people are immortal and some aren't. That's just the way it is."  
  
"I hate this, Mac. It's not fair."  
  
"No."  
  
"Everyone I ever get close to dies."  
  
"I know, Richie."  
  
"I mean, I had to do this with Emily, then Tessa, now Coach. someday this is going to be Heather."  
  
"Is that what's bothering you? One day Heather is going to die?" Duncan asked.  
  
"Mac, I love her. I mean, like, I really love her. I don't know if I can do this again. I mean, if I get this upset over a basketball coach."  
  
"Richie, you really looked up to Coach Roberts. You practically worshiped him. You have every right to be upset about this. You're not overreacting."  
  
"None of the other guys."  
  
"Hey, none of the other guys knew him as long as you did. They didn't grow up going to his games. He didn't watch them grow up. You can't gauge your feelings by theirs."  
  
"I really miss him, Mac."  
  
"You should. He was a great guy. He spent a lot of time with you. That's not something you can just forget."  
  
"I spent a lot of time with Emily, too, and I don't even know what she looks like."  
  
"You were a baby. You were too young to be able to remember."  
  
"But."  
  
"Have you forgotten Tessa?" Duncan asked.  
  
"No, of course not."  
  
"Then why would you forget Coach Roberts?" Richie shrugged. "A lot of the time when someone close to you dies, you start to get these irrational fears. Like being afraid you're going to forget. Richie, you're an adult; you're not going to forget anything." Richie didn't answer. They sat quietly for another ten minutes or so before Duncan stood up. "Do you want some dinner?"  
  
"No," Richie shook his head. "I think I'm going to stay here a little longer."  
  
"Okay. I'm leaving in the morning, so if I don't see you before then, I'll see you when you come home."  
  
"Bye, Mac."  
  
"Bye, Rich."  
  
. . . . . .  
  
A few weeks later, Richie was more or less back to his old self and back home at the dojo. School had gone well and somehow he had scraped up all A's despite the continual interruptions that had happened. He had decided that he and Greg were through and even made everyone promise that if he started to go back to hold an intervention to stop him.  
  
Life at the dojo was going great. He worked during the day at the dojo and usually helped Joe at the bar at night. He was very busy. Duncan thought he was doing it all for the cash, but the young man never seemed to spend any on himself. If he went to the store, he would pay and refuse to let Duncan pay him back. "You've been feeding me for years, Mac," he had argued. "It's about time I start helping out with the grocery bills." But other than those few insistent times, Richie was saving every penny he earned.  
  
Finally, Duncan couldn't take it and sat him down. "Richie, what are you doing?"  
  
"You and Adam are always telling me to save my money when I can," Richie shrugged it off. "And right now I kinda need to," he added.  
  
"What happened?"  
  
"I quit the team."  
  
"You what?"  
  
"Quit the team."  
  
"Richie, why? You love basketball."  
  
"I don't think I do anymore."  
  
"Is this one of those 'I don't like blue' things?" Duncan asked.  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"In your room at Greg's, remember? You decided you didn't like blue."  
  
"Then I guess so."  
  
"You going to explain or do I get to make a reason up?"  
  
"I like soccer," Richie told him flatly.  
  
"So why do you play basketball?"  
  
"Greg made me. He tricked me."  
  
"He tricked you? I thought he let you play both."  
  
"He made basketball a bigger deal than soccer. He would take the whole ball team out for pizza when we won; with soccer he would just fuss over me until we got home. I got more attention when I played basketball."  
  
"You've been reading your psychology book again, haven't you?" Duncan asked.  
  
"So what if I have? It's true. He tricked me into making me just like him."  
  
"Because he gave you more attention when you did what he wanted you to."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"What did he do when you did what he didn't want you to do?" Duncan asked. "What he does to you now?"  
  
"He never hit me, Mac," Richie said. "I mean, sure there were a few swats on the butt. but nothing abusive."  
  
"There's such thing as verbal abuse, Richie. I've stood there while he did it."  
  
"Mac, don't make a federal case out of this," Richie groaned. "I'm just saying, I decided to quit the team because I don't know if I like it anymore."  
  
"What does this have to do with you overworking yourself?"  
  
"I'm not. I'm just saving up for an apartment. I can't stay at the team house anymore."  
  
"What about the dorms, Rich?"  
  
"I've looked into that and I'm on every waiting list possible. But the people that lived there last year get preference and it looks like everything will be full."  
  
"So what are you going to do?"  
  
"Get an apartment. I'm going down a month early to look."  
  
"You're giving yourself a month to find an apartment?"  
  
"I gotta work some; I need the money. Besides, Steven said that a lot of kids going away to college sublet their apartments for the year. there's a good chance I can get one of those."  
  
"Where are you going to stay while you're looking?"  
  
"Heather's."  
  
"What about your job? Isn't The Stadium athletes only?"  
  
"I got that covered."  
  
"What are you going to do?"  
  
"Take care of Brandon and Courtney," Richie admitted uncomfortably. "Kinda like how I used to do odd jobs and run errands for rent money for you and Tessa. I'm gonna take care of Brandon and Courtney while I stay with Steven and Melinda. And then, if I move out before I get a job, they're gonna pay me."  
  
"Richie."  
  
"Mac, I don't need any of your money. But thanks."  
  
"Actually, I was going to tell you that you have a trust fund that you can use if you need to."  
  
"I thought I got that when I turned twenty-one?"  
  
"You have a few coming your way. You get one when you turn twenty-three that's as big as the first one. And then one at thirty and the last one at thirty-five, those two are bigger."  
  
"Oh. those all from Tessa?"  
  
"Two of them; I don't remember which. The other two we set up as soon as you moved in."  
  
"Wow, thanks."  
  
"Just so you know. You'll always be covered."  
  
. . . . . .  
  
When Richie told Joe about his situation Joe insisted on putting Richie on salary. He told him he'd pay him just as much as the other bartenders. but actually paid him five dollars an hour more. Richie worked extra hard for a month before he took his week vacation from each job at the same time. Heather was coming to visit and he wanted to have every minute he could with her while she was there.  
  
The day that Heather arrived, Richie paced back and forth across Duncan's living room floor. Duncan sat back and watched him pace, amused by the boy's nervousness. "You'd think you'd never met Heather before."  
  
"MAC! It's been almost 2 months since I've seen her. Last semester was kind of weird between us because of the Coach, and Greg and stuff. I just miss her and want everything to be okay!"  
  
"It'll be fine, Richie." Duncan looked down at his watch. "Isn't Heather flying in at 4?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"It's 3:15; you should get going so you get there on time."  
  
"3:15! I was supposed to have left 10 minutes ago! Why didn't you tell me?"  
  
"I think I just did." Mac stayed out of the way as Richie ran around getting his stuff together to go pick up Heather from the airport. As Richie ran out the door, he called out, "I made reservations at Magellan's for us, Joe and Heather. Thought it'd be nice. They're at 5:30, so why don't you two just meet us there?"  
  
Richie raised his hand in response as he pulled the elevator grate down, in too much of a rush to reply verbally.  
  
"Bye, Rich!" Duncan loved a flustered Richie. It always reminded him of the times they had with Tessa. Duncan moved over to the living room, sat on the couch and turned on the TV. He had 2 ½ hours, plenty time to get showered and dressed for dinner. 


	35. Kosher?

Richie stood at the gate as the passengers filed off the plane. He made it though security just in time to get there for the unboarding. He had thought about getting flowers or something corny like that but didn't have the time. He spotted a familiar head of dark hair exit the passage.  
  
"Hey!" he called going over to her.  
  
"Hey!" she greeted.  
  
"Took you long enough," he teased giving her a big hug.  
  
"I'll make it up to you," she promised.  
  
"I'll hold you to it."  
  
"How about now?"  
  
"Now, we have reservations for dinner. hope you're hungry."  
  
"Sure," she smiled. "Airline food doesn't do anything for me."  
  
"Good, because Mac made reservations at Magellan's and you have to try the dessert there."  
  
He took her by the hand and led her to baggage claim and then to his car. They got to Magellan's just after 5:30. The hostess led them to the table where Duncan and Joe were already waiting. Dinner was very pleasant. Their conversation drifted from topic to topic with no uncomfortable pauses. They ended up sitting at the restaurant for over three hours before Richie mentioned that they were taking up a waiter's table during the dinner rush and should leave. Joe said his good byes and made Heather promise to make Richie bring her by the bar before she left.  
  
Duncan said he had last minute errands to run and would see the young couple at the loft and left Richie and Heather at the parking lot. Richie took Heather to his home from the restaurant. Suddenly he was very nervous. He wasn't sure why. what if she didn't like it? What if she thought his little closet room was. something not good? He liked it okay. but what if she didn't? He'd seen her house; he'd seen her room. They were both huge. He'd shared a room as big as hers with nine other boys in the orphanage.  
  
"This is it," he said awkwardly as he pulled to a stop behind the building.  
  
"It's huge," she commented.  
  
"Half of that's the dojo," he explained. "We just have the top."  
  
"That's really cool, though. I've always wanted to live above something. like on Friends."  
  
Richie smiled. "Well, now you get to for a week. As a matter of fact, my room is above the loft above the showers above the dojo."  
  
"Really?" she smiled.  
  
"Yeah. Way up in the nose-bleeds."  
  
"Cool. am I going to get to go in? Or do I get the car?"  
  
"Oh, yeah, come on." He got out of the car and got her bag out of the trunk. "This way." He unlocked the front door. "This is the dojo," he said as they walked in. "Nothing fancy, but it serves its purpose. That's the office," he added as he led her to the elevator and opened the grate.  
  
"This is where you work when you're home?"  
  
"Uh. yeah. not much, but it's half mine, so."  
  
"Half yours?"  
  
"Yeah, we. Mac and me. used the money from the antique store to buy the dojo. And since half the antique store was Tessa's, she left it to me, so now this is half mine."  
  
"Wow. A business man," Heather smiled and gave him a peck on the cheek.  
  
"And this. is it. Home sweet home." The elevator slowed to a stop and the loft came into view. He opened the grate. "Now this is where it gets a little confusing," he told her. "That's the kitchen," he pointed around the corner. "This is the living room," he pointed to the couches. "That's Mac's room," he pointed to the bed. "That's the bathroom. there's only one, but it should be fine," he pointed to a door at the far end of the room. "And my room is up there," he pointed to the staircase. "Think you got it all straight?"  
  
Heather smiled again. "Maybe if you draw me a map."  
  
"I got one upstairs for you," he said picking up her bag again.  
  
"Good."  
  
They made their way up the narrow, spiral staircase. At the top of the stairs were two doors. "Roof," Richie said point to the far one. "My room," he said opening the other. "Now I know it's not much, but the rent's cheap."  
  
"It's just what I expected," she interrupted.  
  
"Really?"  
  
"Nice, simple, and cute. just like you."  
  
Richie grinned and put her bag down. "You think I'm cute?"  
  
"Haven't I told you that before? I think you're adorable."  
  
"Really. I think my ears are a little big."  
  
"I think they're perfect," she assured him running her fingers behind them. It sent a shiver down Richie's spine.  
  
"What about my nose? It's kinda."  
  
"Perfect," she said kissing it. "Do you have a problem with your lips, too?"  
  
"I can if you want."  
  
"I think it's time I make it up to you for taking so long to get off the plane." She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him deeply. He was more than happy to return the gesture.  
  
Richie woke up the next morning still in his jeans. They must have fallen asleep while making out. He slipped his arm out from under Heather, changed his shirt, and went down to make breakfast.  
  
"What happened to you two?" Duncan asked as he came out of the bathroom.  
  
"Fell asleep," Richie shrugged.  
  
"Ah," Duncan answered knowing fully well that that was all that had happened. "What are you making?"  
  
"Breakfast, want some?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"Eggs, bacon, toast. usual stuff," Richie shrugged.  
  
"Bacon?" Duncan questioned.  
  
"You want sausage?"  
  
"I thought you couldn't eat bacon?"  
  
"I eat bacon all the time."  
  
"You don't keep kosher?"  
  
"Mac, I had shrimp and lobster last night and I want bacon now. obviously I don't."  
  
"Oh. I just thought that."  
  
"Since I went back to being Jewish, that I'm changing my diet back?"  
  
"I don't know; I was just asking."  
  
"Okay. So table for two or three?" Richie asked going back to his original question.  
  
"Um. three. Want some help?"  
  
"Sure."  
  
"Did you ever keep kosher?" Duncan asked after a minute, taking the bacon out of the refrigerator.  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Why did you stop?"  
  
Richie shrugged and concentrated on scrambling the bowl of eggs in front of him. "Just did."  
  
"When?"  
  
"Few years ago," Richie whisked harder.  
  
"Did Greg make you?" Duncan asked trying to mask rising anger.  
  
"Nope."  
  
"Who did?"  
  
"Nobody made me, Mac. Just forget about it. I don't want to get into it."  
  
That just made Duncan more curious, but he held his question as Heather came down the stairs. "Good morning," he greeted instead.  
  
"Hey, babe," Richie smiled. "Breakfast?"  
  
"You mind if I take a quick shower first?" Heather asked.  
  
"Go for it."  
  
"Thanks." She disappeared into the bathroom.  
  
"Who did?" Duncan asked as soon as the door closed.  
  
"Did what?"  
  
"Made you change your diet."  
  
"I did, I guess. What's with the fascination?"  
  
"I don't know. I just want to know that if you were raised kosher, why aren't you now?"  
  
"Because I got a taste of what I had been missing," Richie said. "You happy now?"  
  
"What made you cross over to the dark side and who gave it to you?" Duncan asked with a smile. "Was it a bacon cheese burger or polish sausage? Angie or Nicki?"  
  
"Pepperoni pizza," Richie answered.  
  
"And what pretty girl gave it to you?" Duncan teased.  
  
"You," Richie answered, pouring the scrambled eggs into the pan on the stove.  
  
"Me?" Duncan repeated.  
  
"Yeah, you."  
  
"When?"  
  
"The first time Tessa ever left us alone for the weekend. We spent the day unpacking shipments and rearranging the store. We skipped lunch so you got two large pepperoni pizzas for dinner," Richie explained. "But you made me eat a salad first. so I guess it was the bacon on the salad, really."  
  
"I ruined your kosher diet?"  
  
"Yes, oh evil one."  
  
"Why didn't you tell me that you couldn't eat all that?"  
  
Richie shrugged. "Your favorite reason for why I do anything, I guess."  
  
Duncan couldn't help but smile. "You're real pathetic you know that? You thought I'd kick you out because you couldn't eat pork?"  
  
"I was eighteen and stupid. Leave it at that."  
  
"You were eighteen and in desperate need of psychiatric help."  
  
"That, too." Richie agreed. Once again their conversation was cut short when Heather entered the room. They ate breakfast and after the dishes were done Richie took Heather out to show her where he had grown up, a task that would take all day, he joked. They made plans to meet that night for dinner. So went the rest of the week until Heather was scheduled to fly back home. They ate breakfast together, then Richie would take her somewhere for the day, and they would all meet up for dinner. Adam and Amanda even joined them a couple times.  
  
"See you in a week," Richie said giving Heather a kiss at the gate.  
  
"In a week," she agreed. "Brandon's very excited you're going to stay with us. He wants you to stay forever."  
  
"Hopefully it won't take that long to get a job down there."  
  
"Last call for flight 826," was announced over the PA system.  
  
The couple said their goodbyes and after one last kiss, Heather boarded the plane back to Missouri. 


	36. Good News

AN: WARNING THIS CHAPTER HAS NOT BEEN BETAED. All mistakes belong to the author who is dyslexic and can't spell to save her life. Do not blame my dear sweet Beta, Professor Lori Belle. She is hard at work studing for very important tests and needs her private time. That said. please review!  
  
It had been a long trip. Richie had stopped only when necessary all the way to Missouri. He was anxious to be back. This was the year everything was going to be prefect. There was no basketball and no Greg to get in the way of school and more importantly. Heather. Nothing was going stop this year from being the best of his life. Everything uncomfortable was gone. There was no Greg leaning over his shoulder. No Greg making snide comments about Duncan. Duncan's snide comments about Greg didn't bother him anymore. Adam was there to train him. He had a light class load both semesters and a blow of class in each. (Adam had persuaded him to take his classes on ancient weaponry and the history of defense promising an easy A.)  
  
And for a month before classes started Richie was going to get a taste of his future. A taste of truly living with the girl he loved. He had stayed the weekend at her house before, but never a month. Day in and day out they were going to be under the same roof. It would be like rehearsing for the next year when they would be married. Richie had already started looking for the perfect ring. He had spent hours sitting in front of Tessa's grave planning out the proposal. He had talked about how and when and begged her for her guidance on the ring. He knew the right ring would appear and he had all year to find it.  
  
When Richie pulled into the driveway six year old Brandon was sitting on the porch waiting for him.  
  
"Hi Richie!" he yelled running to the car.  
  
"Hey, big guy," Richie answered picking Brandon up. "What are you doing out here all by yourself?"  
  
"Heather had to go to the bathroom."  
  
"Ah. Let's go say hi to everybody." He carried Brandon inside and was greeted by an enthusiastic Gigi. "Hey, girl." Richie scratched her behind the ears.  
  
"Richie!" Melinda smiled coming around the corner. "You sure made great time."  
  
"I have a bit of a lead foot," he admitted kissing her cheek. "Especially when I want to get somewhere."  
  
"Hi, Richie," Courtney said coming down the stairs. She had grown considerably over the summer and matured in her appearance. She was fourteen when Richie met her and she was seventeen now. She looked every year of it and maybe one more.  
  
"Hey, beautiful," he smiled at her. "You've grown up."  
  
"It happens," she shrugged.  
  
"So I've noticed."  
  
"Hey, baby!" Heather came around the corner. "You're here!"  
  
"I am." He leaned over and kissed her with Brandon still perched on his hip. "You smell like soap," he added pulling away.  
  
"Need help with the car?" Heather asked.  
  
"Sure, there's not much though."  
  
They all trouped out to help despite Richie's warning of not much to unload. All he had was two bags of clothes and some books.  
  
"Where are all your things?" Melinda asked, grabbing Brandon by the back of his overalls as he tried to run across the street after a cat.  
  
"Storage. Mac'll ship it all down when I need it."  
  
"Are you sure?"  
  
"Yeah, got it all planned out," Richie assured her as he picked up the heavier of the two bags. Brandon insisted on helping so Richie gave him a big law reference book to carry in, Courtney and Melinda got the other books and Heather got his other bag.  
  
"Welcome home," she smiled at him when they were left alone in Heather's room.  
  
"I like the sound of that." He put his arms around her waist and looked into her green eyes. He loved her eyes. They were the first thing that attracted him to her. The contrast with her dark hair would have made her an exotic beauty if it hadn't been for her innocent face and impish grin.  
  
They sat on the foot of the bed limbs entwined talking and laughing softly until Brandon came up to announce dinner was ready. They sat side by side at the dinner table with their ankles hooked together.  
  
"How was your summer, Richie?" Steven asked.  
  
"It was busy, lots of working."  
  
"Saving up money for the year?"  
  
"Saving up money for whenever I need it," Richie answered.  
  
"Ah, you have a good head on your shoulders. I hope you keep it there."  
  
Richie couldn't help but smile at the literal meaning the comment held. "I do, too."  
  
. . . . . .  
  
"Brandon, stop whining and eat them. You're not going out to play until you do," Richie said tiredly. He had been going in circles trying to get Brandon to eat his grapes. Brandon refused to even touch them. "Why don't you want the grapes?" Richie asked crouching beside Brandon's chair.  
  
"Cause."  
  
"Wow, that's a great reason. Eat them."  
  
"No."  
  
"Eat half."  
  
"No."  
  
"Eat seven."  
  
"No."  
  
"Eat seven and I won't tell your mom you were being a baby."  
  
"No."  
  
"Fine, then you can sit there until she gets home from her work and tell her why you're still at the table." Richie stood up and finished putting the lunch things away.  
  
"Richie, can I go to the mall with Jackie?" Courtney asked coming around the corner.  
  
"Sure," Richie said. "Just be home by dinner."  
  
"We were going to go get pizza."  
  
"I'll tell your mom," he told her.  
  
Melinda had gotten a job at a doctor's office, Steven had his accounting firm, Alex was backpacking across Europe, and Heather was working full time at the restaurant until school started, so, Courtney had been babysitting Brandon for the last two months with the promise of getting to go out when she wanted while Richie was there.  
  
"Bye."  
  
"See ya, Court."  
  
"Richie, I wanna go play," Brandon whined from his seat at the table.  
  
"You can sit there until the grapes turn into raisins and then eat them for all I care," Richie told him. "But you're not going anywhere until you eat eight."  
  
"You said seven."  
  
"I just changed my mind."  
  
"That's not fair!"  
  
"I'm in charge. You eat eight then you can go play."  
  
"Eight?"  
  
"Eight."  
  
Brandon sighed the sigh of a man being led to the electric chair and carefully counted out the eight smallest grapes on his plate.  
  
"The faster you eat them the less you taste them," Richie told him. "And drink this right after," he added sliding the boy's milk glass closer to him.  
  
In the end Brandon ate his grapes and Richie didn't tell Melinda of the argument. For the rest of the day Richie and Brandon played in the backyard on the swing set/jungle gym Brandon had gotten for Christmas the previous year. Gigi joined in their games for a while then got distracted by some birds in a tree.  
  
Richie had been wondering how he was going to fit working out in his schedule as a full time babysitter, but one day with Brandon made him realize that taking care of a six year old boy was a work out. He chased Brandon around the yard, pushed him on the swings, played catch, they took the dog for a walk, played pirates, and all sorts of other activities. Richie found himself praying that it wouldn't rain. There was no way he was going to be able to keep Brandon inside all day without the both of them going crazy.  
  
. . . . . .  
  
Two weeks and a thousand leads later, Richie still had no apartment or job. He had honestly thought that a month would have been enough time to get both. He had even called Adam, who refused him help.  
  
"You have to do it on your own," Adam told him. "You will not be the baby immortal forever. Fending for yourself is just part of life. You have people who are willing to let you live with them for as long as you need, rent free. You're doing fine. If you get truly stuck. then we'll talk."  
  
Two weeks after that school started. Richie's schedule was perfect for dropping off and picking up Brandon from school while Courtney insisted she was too old to be driven to school and got a ride from a friend. The first day of school Melinda took off work to take and pick up Brandon because it was his first day of first grade, so Richie had an extra twenty minutes to sleep. Heather had moved back into the sorority house so Richie had the room to himself. He woke up and turned off his alarm and wondered into the hall just in time for Brandon to tell him goodbye as he was ushered down the stairs by Melinda.  
  
Richie took a shower and got dress. Courtney was running out the door as he came down the stairs. "Alex is coming home tonight!" he called after her. "Don't be late!"  
  
He grabbed the last of the Pop Tarts put them on the grocery list and left for his first class. The first day wasn't that bad. His pre-law class sizes had dwindled down considerable since his sophomore year. Most had either funked or dropped out.  
  
"Hi Professor Conroy," Richie greeted his favorite professor as he as in self in the second row. He had beet all the other students to class.  
  
"Hello, Mr. Ryan. How was your summer?"  
  
"Pretty good."  
  
"Have you been looking into law schools?"  
  
"Yes, sir. I have the applications just waiting to be filled out."  
  
"Have you ever considered Michigan?"  
  
"Yeah. They're at the top of my list."  
  
"I was hoping you would say that. A local law firm, that one of my good friends is partner in, asked me for internship candidates. You were the first to come to mind."  
  
"Really?"  
  
"Yes." A couple more students walked into the room. "Mr. Jacobs, Ms. Jefferson," Professor Conroy greeted them before turning back to Richie. "Come by my office after class and I'll give you the details."  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
By the end of his first class Richie had five pages of notes scribbled out and a tape of the lecture to go over in case he missed anything important. After class was dismissed Richie followed Professor Conroy to his office.  
  
"Now, Mr. Ryan, are you interested?"  
  
"Of course. That would be awesome."  
  
"Along with the internship you will get a full scholarship to the law school in town. You will also get school credit for your hours at the firm."  
  
"Is there a down side?" Richie asked.  
  
"I don't want you to get any ideas of arguing cases in front of juries, you'd be an assistant. That means research, errands, and endless paper work and you won't get paid. It's not a glamorous job."  
  
"You should see what I do now."  
  
"There will be long hours plus a full load of school work."  
  
"With all due respect, Professor, last year I was the captain of a champion basketball team, a head waiter at The Stadium, carried a full load, had a steady girlfriend and came out with all A's."  
  
"I know; you are a hard worker. That's why I want to nominate you for the position. As long as you are sure you can handle it."  
  
"I know I can."  
  
"Then I will get you the necessary paper work to apply. You will need two more letters of recommendation along with mine. I would suggest an employer and a professor."  
  
"Yes, sir." Richie stood up and shook Professor Conroy's hand. "Thank you, sir."  
  
"You have real promise, Mr. Ryan. I have every faith in you. Don't let me down."  
  
"I won't."  
  
Richie left Professor Conroy's office and all but skipped to his car. He had great news for anyone willing to listen. He got in his car and drove back to the O'Neal's house. 


	37. Another Immortal In The Mix

Richie was reading his essay for his application to the Michigan University of Law. He practically had it memorized; he had read it so many times. He had been assigned two essays, one an analysis of a fictional court case and one about his life. The first had been the easier of the two. As he had started the biographical essay, he found himself trying to get too in-depth and continually had to go back and take out some reference to his immortality. He had been working on the essay for two weeks and still hated it. For someone who hated to talk about himself, he sure was getting into it. They had given him three thousand words and he had made it to one thousand by the time he was done talking about Emily. Then there was Greg, then his time between Greg and Duncan, then his time with Duncan and Tessa, and his time at Somo. He was trying to figure out what to take out when Heather came in.  
  
"Hey," she grinned at him. "Any luck?"  
  
"No," he groaned sitting back and stretching. He had yet to find a lead on an apartment or a job that were in decent proximity to the O'Neal's house and school. "I'm trying to distract myself with these essays."  
  
"But," she supplied for him.  
  
"But I can't stay in the limits. I'm just too complicated."  
  
"You don't seem very complicated to me."  
  
"Really? The woman I grew up thinking was my mother turned out to be a foster mother, I spent twelve years in foster homes, one of which was burned down by Nazi wannabes, and I have a juvie record that could fill the Grand Canyon. Not complicated?"  
  
"Your house got burned down?" Heather asked.  
  
"Well, not totally."  
  
"What happened?" she asked sitting on his knee and looking at him.  
  
"Long story short." he sighed. "They were black, I was white and we were all Jewish. 'nuff said."  
  
"Not exactly something you could leave out, huh?"  
  
"Not really."  
  
"Hum. do you really have to put in so much about Emily?" she asked scanning the screen. "You could shorten it a bit."  
  
"I guess. I just. need to cut about half of this out." He glanced at the clocked at the bottom of the screen. "After I pick up Courtney from ballet and Brandon from play group." He clicked the save button and popped out his disk. "You going to be home for dinner?"  
  
"No, I just came home to pick a few things up."  
  
"If I pout will you stay?" he asked standing up and kissing her.  
  
"I don't know." she teased.  
  
"I'm told I was a real brat as a child."  
  
She laughed. "Fine. I'll stay."  
  
"Be back in twenty minutes."  
  
Richie hated going into the ballet studio. It was filled with moms and very bored little brothers. Little brothers that jumped at the chance to play with the only adult male in building.  
  
"Hi Richie!" a few called when he walked in.  
  
"Hey guys." He looked into the studio and saw that the girls were getting their things together. Courtney was one of the first into the waiting room.  
  
"Ready?" he asked while walking up to her.  
  
"Yeah," she said with a smile, casting a superior look at the other girls who all watched jealously as she left with Richie.  
  
"Your mom just called," Richie said as they got into the car. "We're going to get Brandon, take you home to get changed and pick up Heather, then meet for dinner at Chili's."  
  
"Cool."  
  
They picked up Brandon, who was all excited about the game of Red Rover they had been playing when Richie showed up. He chatted all the way home until Courtney couldn't take it anymore.  
  
"I'm going to take my own car," Heather said meeting them on the driveway. "Then go back to school after dinner."  
  
"I'm riding with Heather!" Courtney announced.  
  
"We'll meet you there," Heather said, kissing Richie through the open window.  
  
At dinner, the large group chatted and laughed loudly, more than once attracting the attention of the people around them. Alex told them more about his trip around Europe, Heather told stories about newest ditzes in the sorority house, Courtney told everyone about her horrible experience dissecting frogs in biology, and Richie talked about his latest attempts at finding a job and apartment.  
  
"You know you are more than welcome to just stay the year," Melinda reminded him.  
  
"I know, and I really appreciate that. But I feel weird just freeloading."  
  
"You're not," Steven told him. "You are taking care of Brandon and that is a full time job."  
  
"You're telling me," Richie smiled. "But I still feel wrong just staying at your house."  
  
"Well, just know that we have no problem with it. You are a part of the family now," Melinda smiled at him.  
  
"Thanks," Richie smiled back.  
  
. . . . . .  
  
"Can I ask you something?" Richie asked as he and Adam sat down after a rather intense training session the next morning.  
  
"Sure," Adam said handing him a water bottle.  
  
"Have you been seeing any other immortals around?"  
  
"Just you. I haven't even seen Greg this year. Why?"  
  
"I could swear someone's been following me around. I just get this feeling that there's an immortal near by, but as soon as it hits me, it's gone. And I almost always feel like someone's watching me."  
  
"Are you sure you're not being paranoid?" Adam asked. "Have you actually seen anybody?"  
  
Richie looked at the ground. "No. no one's ever there. But I get the feeling all the time."  
  
"Are you sure it's an immortal?"  
  
Richie looked up at Adam with an indigent expression. "I may not be five thousand, but I know what an immortal feels like. I'm not stupid."  
  
"I know; I grade your papers. I'm just saying you don't know what all is out there. Richie, you spend most of your time on a college campus surrounded by people. Have you ever considered that it may not be an immortal?"  
  
"Then what? I can sense underage drinkers and pot heads?"  
  
Adam rolled his eyes. "You say the feeling is only there for a short while then goes away."  
  
"Right."  
  
"And an immortal never approaches you."  
  
"Right."  
  
"Well, maybe they're not immortal yet."  
  
Richie cocked his head to one side. "You can tell that?"  
  
"Why do you think MacLeod let you hang around?"  
  
"Because he knew," he answered after a minute.  
  
"Exactly. There's a lesson for you to learn. You can't judge everything by your first instinct."  
  
"Mac says to go with your instincts," Richie challenged.  
  
"When fighting, yes. Don't over analyze what you are doing. Just do what your body tells you to," Adam enforced the lesson. "But when it's not a life or death situation take the time to really think all the details through. In your experience, people follow you around to get to MacLeod. but you're a big boy now and that won't always be the case. People may come after you to get to you, or they may have no interest in you, or they may have no idea that they should be aware of you."  
  
"Uh-huh," Richie said nodding slightly to show he was listening.  
  
"And taking the time to carefully look through every situation can save you a lot of fights and troubles. Don't challenge someone because they made you mad, or hit on Heather, or because they have bad fashion sense. If you think you may want to take someone on, do the research; see if you have any chance of beating them. And if you have doubts, don't do it."  
  
"What if they challenge me?"  
  
"You don't always have to fight just because someone wants you to."  
  
"But, Mac says."  
  
"I don't care what MacLeod says," Adam interrupted. "You have his opinion and now you'll have mine. The Gathering has nothing to do with honor; it has everything to do with surviving. There is no shame in running to keep your head."  
  
Richie smiled. "I've done that before."  
  
"So have I. and I still do it. Don't fight because you can. Fight because you have no option but to do so. Keep your head."  
. . . . . .  
  
Richie could tell something was wrong as soon as he walked up the steps to where Brandon's class sat waiting to be picked up. As soon as Brandon's teacher, Mrs. Westbrook, saw Richie, her expression changed.  
  
"Again?" Richie asked looking down at Brandon who was pouting on the steps with a bruise forming on his left cheek. "Who was it this time?"  
  
"Billy Clark," Mrs. Westbrook told him. "I've already set up an appointment to talk to his parents. Can you have Mr. or Mrs. O'Neal call me tonight?" She handed him a note.  
  
"I'll have Melinda call as soon as she gets home," he promised. "Come 'ere little man." He picked Brandon up. "You okay?"  
  
"Uh-huh," Brandon said softly, putting his head on Richie's shoulder.  
  
"Ah, you sound like me," he scolded lightly.  
  
Later that evening, Richie greeted Melinda at the door. "It happened again," he said handing her the note.  
  
Melinda sighed. "That's the third time in the last two weeks. Where is he?"  
  
"The little punching bag is in the kitchen coloring."  
  
Melinda gave him a fleeting smile and went to check on Brandon. All year long, the other boys had been picking on Brandon. What Brandon lacked in fighting ability and size he made up for in attitude. needless to say Richie sympathized with the boy a great deal. Melinda and Steven had been trying to find a way to keep Brandon from being the victim without turning him into a fighting machine. Richie's first impulse was to tell them to sign Brandon up for karate lessons, but he didn't want to interfere so he kept his mouth shut. Brandon played the sympathy card but otherwise didn't seem to be bothered by the fact that he was getting picked on.  
  
While Melinda was on the phone in the living room, Richie started dinner. While he was waiting for the water to boil, he looked at the six year old sitting at the kitchen table humming and coloring. Suddenly he had an idea. He concentrated as hard as he could on the boy. Wrinkling his nose in concentration, he found what he was looking for. It was there. barely but it was there. A faint immortal buzz. The stalker had been Brandon all along. Richie laughed at himself and shook his head slightly. So much for the immortal drama of his senior year. Richie turned back to the stove and dumped pasta into the water.  
  
He let his mind wonder and found himself staring at Brandon again. He was so young, totally unaware of what was to become of him. One day the little boy who could barely read Go Dog, Go was going to be wielding a sword and chopping off people's heads. if he won his first challenge. Soon he would be sucked into a world of secrets, violence and death. The innocent first grader would be a cold-blooded killer. Richie had little hope for himself it was so late in the game, what was Brandon going to do?  
  
"Hey, little man, you wanna meet one of my old babysitter?" Richie heard himself ask.  
  
"You have a babysitter?" Brandon asked.  
  
"Yup, when I was little. He's a professor now. Do you want to meet him?"  
  
"Yeah!"  
  
Richie decided he would call Adam after dinner. He would know what to do. 


	38. Happy Halloween!

SPECIAL ANNOUNCMENT! This chapter is dedicated to Christine for sending my 200th review for this story. Special Honorable Mentions to Sammy, who was number 199 and Reagan who was 201. And of course all you people out there that are kind enough to take the time and not only read but review as well. Shall we go for 250?  
  
The next afternoon, Richie packed Brandon a snack to eat while they drove to campus to meet Adam. Periodically while they drove, Richie would feel a buzz come into range and he would look back at Brandon in the rearview mirror. No wonder Duncan always knew where Richie was while he was mortal. He was a tiny blip on Immortal Radar.  
  
Richie carried Brandon on his back to Adam's office. Brandon told jokes and kept up a one sided conversation the whole way there.  
  
"I want to knock," Brandon insisted when Richie put his hand up to the door. Richie leaned forward so he could rap lightly on the door before they let themselves in.  
  
"Hey," Richie greeted putting Brandon down.  
  
"Thanks for knocking. This him?"  
  
"Yup. Brandon this is Professor Pierson. He used to baby-sit me." Richie didn't miss the annoyed frown that crossed Adam face. Ever since that night at The Stadium last year Richie always introduced Adam as his babysitter.  
  
"Hi, I'm Brandon. Today is my birthday and tomorrow is Halloween. I'm going to have a party."  
  
"Well, happy birthday," Adam smiled at him. "You know. you seem to be just the guy to solve this problem I'm having." He walked over to his desk and opened a drawer. "She's been meowing all day. I think she wants someone to play with," he said picking up a kitten that looked like it had been woken from its nap. "Will you distract her while I talk to Richie?"  
  
"Yeah!" Brandon agreed.  
  
"Aw. You in the habit of keeping small pets in your desk?" Richie asked, watching Brandon settle on the floor with his prize.  
  
"I borrowed it from Professor Kingsly. One of her students sold it to her."  
  
Richie smiled and shook his head. "You never borrowed a cat to distract me. Should I be jealous?"  
  
"You're a real brat, you know that?"  
  
"I've been told," he shrugged. "Anyway, am I right?"  
  
Adam looked at Brandon and studied him. "You're right. He's probably one of the last."  
  
"So what do I do?"  
  
"Train him."  
  
"You want me to." Richie stopped and lowered his voice. "You want me to give a six year old a sword?"  
  
"Don't be stupid. Get his parents to sign him up for some sort of self- defense class. Besides if he's like other immortals he's getting picked on and needs it anyway."  
  
"What do you mean? Like other immortals what?"  
  
"Every immortal I've run into has some memory of being bullied as a child. Weren't you?"  
  
"Well, yeah. But I was short."  
  
"MacLeod was picked on. both of them. Amanda was picked on. It's part of being immortal. It's as if mortals can sense that we're different and try to do something about it. It's like picking on a kid with glasses or braces only you don't know why you're doing it."  
  
"So I tell Steven and Melinda to sign Brandon up for karate. What if they don't want to?"  
  
"Mention to Brandon in conversation that you took karate. He'll pester his parents for you. As long as he knows you do it, he'll want to do it."  
  
"Just because I'm immortal?"  
  
"If a pre-immortal is lucky enough to find an immortal before their first death they imitate them. Like you and MacLeod and Masters."  
  
"I didn't imitate Mac."  
  
"You can't tell me you didn't sneak a few swings of the katana in while you were mortal."  
  
"Well, yeah but I."  
  
"Was drawn to them?"  
  
"Yeah, but."  
  
"You've always loved swords and history?"  
  
"I guess."  
  
"It's because you always knew you were immortal?"  
  
They paused. "Well?" Richie asked. "What am I going to say next?"  
  
"I also took most of MacLeod's rules to heart and tried to live up to his standards."  
  
"That it?"  
  
"For now."  
  
"So I have to start him now?"  
  
"I would. well?"  
  
"Well?" Richie repeated.  
  
"Where's the 'But Mac says.'?"  
  
"I've never had this probl. You're making fun of me, aren't you?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Thanks a lot, man." A Buzz hit and both immortals' backs stiffened. "I'm guessing that wasn't Brandon?"  
  
"No. That was an immortal. Is that the feeling you've been getting?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Then I take it back; you're not paranoid. You have yourself a knocker."  
  
"What's that?"  
  
"An immortal that runs once they get in range of their target."  
  
"I've always wanted my very own stalker."  
  
"Just keep up your training, and remember."  
  
"There's no shame in running to keep your head," Richie intoned.  
  
"Fast learner," Adam smiled pinching Richie's cheek. "I can see why MacLeod is so proud of you," he cooed.  
  
"I'm sure; we have to go now. Thanks, Adam." "You watch that kid. The last thing you need is a six year old immortal to watch after." "Yeah, I know." He turned to pick up Brandon. "Come on, little man, time to go. Thank Professor Pierson for letting you play with his kitten."  
  
Brandon's face fell at having to give the kitten back, but he did.reluctantly. "Thank you, Prof'sr Pierson. I really like your kitten."  
  
Adam smiled and took hold of the kitten while Richie collected his charge and headed for the door.  
  
"And Rich? Watch your head."  
  
"Real funny."  
  
. . . . . .  
  
"What are those?" Heather asked, looking at the green things Richie was taking out of the oven.  
  
"Frankenstein fingers. hotdogs stuffed with cheese and wrapped in green biscuit dough." He proudly held out the pan.  
  
"And those?" she asked pointing to the black tips.  
  
"Olives. finger nails," he smiled. "Try one."  
  
"They're green." She wrinkled her nose and stepped away.  
  
"It's just food coloring."  
  
"I'm not eating it," she insisted.  
  
"Fine, more for the kids."  
  
"You think they're gonna eat those?"  
  
"18 six-year-old boys? They'll love them."  
  
"How do you know?"  
  
"Because I'm boy and I was six once."  
  
"What's this?" she asked moving to the stove. "Cream of vegetable soup?"  
  
"Add a little food coloring and it's barf."  
  
"Why did my dad let you be in charge of food?"  
  
"Because he thought I had great ideas for the menu. Besides it's a Halloween party." He put his arms around her waist and pulled her to him. "Don't you have a sense of humor?"  
  
"I've had a sense of humor with this thing," she said fingering the goatee that Richie had been growing for the past two weeks.  
  
"Don't you think it makes me look more pirate-ie?"  
  
"I think it makes you fuzzy."  
  
"Maybe my costume will help," he looked down and her.  
  
"Maybe."  
  
"You think?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
He started backing toward the kitchen door, dragging her with him. "You wanna help me change?"  
  
"Maybe."  
  
"Arrgh. don't be makin' me force you into nothin'," he said in his best pirate voice.  
  
. . . . . .  
  
"They ooze puss!" one of Brandon's friends, a policeman, yelled excitedly as melted cheese dripped from his hot dog.  
  
"Ewww!" the rest of the kids yelled as the chomped into their own Frankenstein fingers.  
  
"Told ya," Richie the pirate boasted to Heather a.k.a. Wonder Woman. "Little boys like gross things. They're going to love desert."  
  
"I'm afraid to ask."  
  
"Scabs," Richie grinned broadly at her.  
  
"What?!"  
  
"I'll show you." He took her into the kitchen were a large platter of red and brown and lumpy. things sat on the counter. "Melted marshmallows died red and corn flakes. Like rice crispy treats. only gross looking." He picked on up. "Try it."  
  
"No." She backed away.  
  
"Just close your eyes and try it."  
  
"Fine." She rolled her eyes and tried it.  
  
"See, just like grandma used to make. Only these will turn your teeth pink if you eat too many."  
  
. . . . . .  
  
"Mac, perfect timing," Joe said as Duncan walked into the empty bar. "Mike just sent me some stuff you have to see."  
  
"What's wrong?" Duncan asked approaching Joe and his lap top.  
  
Joe chuckled. "You tell me. Has Richie always dressed up like this?" He turned the computer so Duncan could see the pictures Mike had taken of Richie escorting a small herd of boys trick or treating. Richie was a pirate from head to toe, complete with bandanna around the head, a cheesy plastic sword tucked in his red sash, and knee high black boots.  
  
Duncan smiled. "Tessa made him a Musketeer costume when he was 19."  
  
"He is an odd little boy," Joe said fondly.  
  
"He just has a good sense of humor. This must be the Halloween/birthday party he was telling me about."  
  
"There's more. See Batman? He's immortal."  
  
"Where?" Duncan scanned through the pictures again. "I don't see him."  
  
"Try lower, around there." Joe pointed to the little boy holding Richie's hand. "Adam just called. It turns out Brandon is immortal."  
  
"Heather's brother? Is he sure?"  
  
"Richie and Adam both felt it."  
  
Duncan smiled. "You make sure someone keeps an eye on both of them. I'll call Richie tomorrow."  
  
"Of course."  
  
Duncan headed out to his car. Poor Richie. He really would have a long road ahead of him with Brandon and it would be hard for the young man to watch his favorite young charge grow up and learn the Game. Duncan had every confidence that Richie would do it and make sure the boy had every advantage possible. Duncan reached his car. He opened the door, slid in making sure his coat wasn't in the way, and slammed the door. He turned the car on and sped home. If he hurried, he'd have enough time for dinner before he called Richie.  
  
AN: Thanks to Lorilei for the food ideas! 


	39. New Job, New Place, Same Old Richie

"Hey, Richie!" Joe greeted enthusiastically when Richie entered the bar a few weeks later. "What are you doing home? And how did you get here so fast? Did you skip classes?" It was eight o'clock Friday night.  
  
"I flew. I came up to get my furniture. And Adam's class is the only one I have on Monday so I have plenty of time to get back."  
  
"Late class?"  
  
"Skipping."  
  
"If he would leave Saturday instead of Sunday he wouldn't have to," Duncan said putting a hand on Richie's shoulder.  
  
"I have to load the truck tomorrow. Besides is it really skipping if your professor has your cell phone number? I can always call during class and listen in."  
  
"Kid's got a point, Mac," Joe agreed. "So you're loading all day tomorrow?"  
  
"It won't take all day," Richie said. "I mean, it's what--a bed, a couch, a kitchen table, and a couple chairs? Just a few hours. less if Mac will help."  
  
"I assumed I was. How are you going to carry a couch by yourself?"  
  
"Last time Nick and Jason helped me."  
  
"Last time you didn't tell me when you were moving."  
  
"I was afraid you were going to get all weird on me."  
  
"Then maybe I won't help." Duncan sat down on his usual bar stool.  
  
"What if I give you." Richie dug through his pockets. "Oohh. a not so shiny nickel? Would you help me then?"  
  
"Make it a quarter and you got yourself deal."  
  
Richie paused. "Joe, can I borrow a quarter?"  
  
. . . . . .  
  
"I don't remember this," Richie said as he walked into his storage garage. "When did I get this?" He walked around the chest of drawers in question. "Is this yours?"  
  
"I just bought it."  
  
"Oh, cool. You ready to get started?"  
  
"I never said it was mine," Duncan hinted.  
  
"I was just curious how it got here; I could care less whose it is," Richie said, positioning himself at one end of his couch.  
  
"It's yours."  
  
"Mac," Richie groaned. "I thought we went over this!"  
  
"What?"  
  
"You just buying stuff. You gotta stop."  
  
"Why? Richie, I just thought you might need a little more storage space."  
  
"If I needed it, I woulda' bought it. I have a job you know. Start on Wednesday."  
  
"Doing what?"  
  
"Don't change the subject."  
  
"Richie. what's wrong with spoiling someone a little bit?"  
  
"Mac."  
  
"Okay. I'll stop. Last thing, I promise."  
  
"You promise?"  
  
"What, you want it in writing?"  
  
"Well, it would make it legal."  
  
"I had to get lawyer boy started, didn't I?" Duncan rolled his eyes.  
  
"You're the one who wanted me to go to school. Speaking of. I'll never get back if we don't get this stuff loaded."  
  
"That's just like you, you know. Starting an argument to get out of work." Duncan smiled.  
  
"I didn't start anything!"  
  
"See? There you go again. Arguing!"  
  
"Oh. you just think you're soooo smart don't you?"  
  
"Of course not. I'm not the one with the four point o."  
  
"Three point nine," Richie corrected. "But I'm working on it."  
  
"Three point nine?" Duncan grunted as they lifted the overstuffed leather couch. "That the best you can do?"  
  
"I know, I'm a slacker. I'd rather argue than get my work done."  
  
"It's not like it's hard work. I mean, pre-law? Couldn't you have picked something challenging?"  
  
"This from the guy who didn't even graduate kindergarten."  
  
"Shut up and watch your step."  
  
"Thanks for the concern." They positioned the couch in the back corner of the rental truck and covered it with a blanket.  
  
"So what's this new job?" Duncan asked as they started loading the kitchen table. "Another restaurant?"  
  
"Nope, another gym. Teaching karate, kick boxing and kendo."  
  
"That sounds a little more up your alley than 'may I take your order?'"  
  
"You're telling me. Although the tips were pretty good."  
  
"So how'd you find the job? You didn't tell me anything about a gym."  
  
"It just kinda happened. About two weeks ago, I dropped Courtney off for ballet and took Brandon across the street to sign him up for karate lessons 'cause he's kinda getting picked on. Well, it turns out the instructor had to leave suddenly 'cause his mom was sick or something so they had no one there to teach. We talked it out; I showed them my moves and bam got the gig."  
  
"That worked out well."  
  
"Yup."  
  
"What about the apartment? Easy commute?"  
  
"Yeah, about thirty seconds. It's just across the street."  
  
"Next to the ballet studio?"  
  
"Above it, actually. It's a loft." They settled the table in the truck.  
  
"Is it nice?"  
  
"Yup. Got it from the guy whose job I took. I bought him out of his lease. And you won't believe who's got the loft right below me."  
  
"Who?"  
  
"Alex."  
  
"Big brother who hates you, Alex?"  
  
"He doesn't hate me anymore."  
  
"Why did he? Jealous?"  
  
"No, he didn't mind me on his team." He followed Duncan with the chairs. "He just didn't want a hardened criminal like me, dating his sister."  
  
"What does he know about you being a criminal?"  
  
"Well, when Coach Roberts struck deals with players, he always talked it through with the captain."  
  
"He told Alex about you?"  
  
"No details; just the basics. You know one conviction, spent time in juvie, cleaned up his act, that type of stuff."  
  
"Juvie?" Duncan repeated.  
  
Richie looked up. "I told you about it ages ago."  
  
"I know. I'm just surprised Roberts would tell something like that."  
  
"I was kid when it happened. It was a minimum-security juvenile detention center, not Alcatraz. Besides after I did that lecture, it's not exactly a secret."  
  
"I know. So what made him change his mind?"  
  
"His whole family trusts me; I sleep with his sister without sleeping with her; I take care of his little brother and play chauffeur to his little sister. What's not to trust?"  
  
"I've known you for a lot longer than he has and I still don't trust you."  
  
"Gee, thanks, Mac. Good to know you care."  
  
They continued to joke around as they loaded the rest of the furniture.  
  
"Are you coming up for Christmas. Hanukah. winter break?"  
  
"Actually, no. I don't really have time. We're only letting out the classes at the gym for a week," Richie said as he pulled the gate closed on the truck. "But, I was wondering if maybe you wanted to come to me this year. I'm sick of doing all the traveling."  
  
"Alright. Just give me the dates."  
  
"And between me and Adam," Richie continued. "There's enough room for everyone so we can do the whole big hoopla thing."  
  
"And?"  
  
"And?"  
  
"You sound like you have more to say."  
  
"I was thinking. that maybe. we could do a big dinner. While you guys are there so you can all meet Heather's family. And they can meet my. family. sans Greg. I was thinking of calling Conner too. What do you think?"  
  
Duncan smiled. "I think that's a great idea. You sound like you're getting serious with Heather."  
  
"Mac, it's been serious. This isn't a flavor of the week. I think this is it. She's the one. I know she is."  
  
"Richie."  
  
"Mac, if you're going to lecture me, don't. I've never felt this way about anyone. I saw the way Tessa looked at you. That's how Heather looks at me."  
  
"I was going to say I do, too. I've seen you two together. I've heard you talk about her. I know you're in love."  
  
Richie paused. "Okay. awkward moment. Sorry, didn't mean to jump down your throat like that."  
  
"Don't worry about it. You do crazy things when you're in love. So I'll see you in December?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Alright then. You better get going. You have a lot of road to cover."  
  
"And a lead foot. No problem."  
  
"You can't die until you graduate. I've been waiting years for this."  
  
"So just as long as you get the pictures, I can die?"  
  
"Exactly."  
  
"Okay, it's a deal." Richie stuck out his hand.  
  
"Take care of yourself," Duncan said pulling him into a hug.  
  
"Always do."  
  
Richie got into the truck and pulled into traffic. Duncan closed up the garage and went to talk to Joe and make arrangements to fly to Missouri for Christmas. 


	40. The Meeting of the InLaws

The alarm went off at six forty-five. "No school," Richie mumbled, swatting blindly at the bedside table until the buzzing stopped. He snuggled down under his comforter and buried his head in his arms. The sweatshirt material felt good on his face. Missouri had been setting record lows every night for a week. Richie had gotten cold in the middle of the night and dug a sweatshirt out of the laundry. He was drifting off to sleep again when the alarm went off. "No!" Richie shut it off again. He repeated the process six more times until the phone rang. He groaned and decided to let the answering machine pick up. He heard the tape start up then stop when the caller hung up. Richie settled back into the pillows and closed his eyes just in time for the phone to start ringing again. Richie groped around on the floor until he found the cordless phone.  
  
"Uh," he answered  
  
"Grunt to you, too, caveman," Heather laughed on the other line. "This is your friendly wake up call."  
  
"You are far too perky for this early in the morning."  
  
"You're the one who asked me to call since I'm up anyway. Time for you to clean."  
  
"Eh, Mac knows I'm a slob," Richie said.  
  
"What about dinner?"  
  
"You're family knows I'm a slob, too."  
  
"Yes, everyone knows you're a slob. But we have to have room to sit."  
  
"You have legs; you can stand."  
  
"You're cranky this morning," Heather told him laughing.  
  
"I was having a good dream until my rather persistent girlfriend called."  
  
"Oh, poor baby. What about?"  
  
"Eh, stuff," Richie shrugged under his blankets.  
  
"Girls?"  
  
"Naturally."  
  
"Any one specific?"  
  
"Now, what you have to remember is that it's not cheating if it's a dream."  
  
"Good, so now I can tell you all about me and James Marsters. Now who is it?"  
  
"And it's your fault I even know who she is."  
  
"Who?"  
  
"Amy Wynn."  
  
Heather laughed. "From Trading Spaces?"  
  
"I know, I know."  
  
"She started out in theater, you know."  
  
"I must have a thing for thespians."  
  
Heather decided not to follow that line of thinking. Instead she decided to get back to what she had called Richie for. "Must. WAKE UP!"  
  
"No!"  
  
"If you're awake enough to argue, you're awake enough to clean."  
  
"That's horrible logic."  
  
"What do you expect from me? It's seven fifteen."  
  
"I expect more from you, Heather O'Neal," Richie scolded playfully.  
  
"Eh."  
  
"You sound like me."  
  
"Then you can't complain."  
  
"I'd rather stay in my nice, warm bed and talk to you."  
  
"Get up; get dressed!"  
  
"I don' wanna."  
  
"Too bad."  
  
"What are you wearing?" Richie asked.  
  
"Get up."  
  
"Tell me what you're wearing."  
  
"Stop changing the subject."  
  
"I just want to know. Then I'll hang up and clean."  
  
"A sweat shirt, pajama bottoms, and house shoes."  
  
"Liar."  
  
"How do you know?"  
  
"Because."  
  
"Clean."  
  
"Fine. But if I catch pneumonia, it's all your fault."  
  
"Fine with me. See you tonight."  
  
"Love ya too."  
  
. . . . . .  
  
Three hours later, Richie looked around the spotless loft, which smelt of Windex and Lemon Pledge. He glanced at his watch and decided he had time for a workout before going to the store for the huge dinner he had planned for that night. He laced up his sneakers and ran across the street to the gym.  
  
As he stretched, he watched the yoga class through the glass wall that separated the classroom from the rest of the gym. When he was done warming up, he went to get a jump rope off the peg in the corner where he ran into Collin, one of the gym regulars.  
  
"Dual?" Collin asked, grabbing a rope, too.  
  
"Sure."  
  
They stood facing each other with a few feet between them. They took a few test jumps to make sure their ropes wouldn't collide then started. Collin jumped in a certain pattern and Richie followed. Richie made it a little more challenging and Collin followed, and then upped the challenge. Richie followed. Soon they were jumping, skipping, crossing, and crissing in a complicated pattern that both men could barely keep up with. Just when Richie thought he was going to win, a buzz washed through his system. The momentary distraction was long enough for Richie to manage to tangle his rope around his ankle and pull his foot out from under himself.  
  
Collin laughed. "I've never seen anyone do that before."  
  
"I like to be the first," Richie mumbled accepting Collin's offered hand up.  
  
"What happened to you? You were here one second, and then gone the next."  
  
"Got distracted."  
  
"You didn't hurt yourself, did ya?"  
  
"Nah, I'm hard to hurt. May ass is a little sore. but I'll live." Richie went to hang his rope back up.  
  
Collin followed. "Have any plans for Christmas?"  
  
Richie smiled. "I'm Jewish."  
  
"Oh, sorry."  
  
"No worries. I actually have a big dinner planned for tonight. Heather's family and my family all in the same room for the first time."  
  
"That could be interesting."  
  
"Should be." Richie looked at the clock on the far wall. "Speaking of, I gotta get to the store. Lots of people to feed. And I have a class at five. And I still have to make the lasagna."  
  
"And the panic sets in," Collin added.  
  
"Yeah. I gotta go. See you later, man."  
  
Richie ran back across the street, into the side door of his building and up the stairs. He heard Alex out in the hall talking to someone and was going to quietly sneak by until he saw who Alex was talking to.  
  
"Rachel! I didn't know you were coming!" He smiled and gave her a hug.  
  
"I was wondering why you were missing when she got here," Alex said. "It was nice meeting you, Ms. Ellenstien. I'll see you at dinner tonight."  
  
"Call me Rachel, dear. And I'll see you tonight."  
  
"I'm upstairs," Richie said, taking Rachel's bag in one hand and her arm in the other. "I'm glad I came home when I did, I wasn't expecting anyone for another couple hours."  
  
"I hope you don't mind my just showing up. Conner and Duncan thought it would be a nice surprise."  
  
"No, no. This is great," Richie assured her, unlocking and opening the door. "You're the first to see. Well, the first beside everyone here. you know what I mean."  
  
"It's very nice."  
  
"Thanks."  
  
"But you," Rachel said, taking both of Richie's hands and holding his arms out. "You, I can't get over. So this is what you really look like."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Last time I saw you, you were a scrawny little thing with a broken arm, black hair and tattoos."  
  
"You dyed my hair back to blonde," Richie reminded her. "And if I remember correctly you were the one telling Conner and Mac to use steel wool to scrub the tattoos off. The loofas hurt enough, thank you."  
  
"Loofas don't hurt."  
  
"You try being pinned to the floor while Mac scrubs off semi-permanent tattoos and yells at you."  
  
"You've grown up since then, matured, fill out. You turned out quite nicely."  
  
Richie blushed lightly. "I like to think so."  
  
"I thought Tessa made you get rid of all these?" Rachel smiled, flicking Richie's left ear lobe.  
  
"She did. This is new. About a month old, I guess. It was my Hanukah present to me," Richie said, yanking lightly on the small silver loop. "Five bucks says it's the first thing Mac notices. I'm just hoping he doesn't get mad. He didn't like them either. Not that he didn't have one, mind you. But it's different on me."  
  
"Of course," Rachel laughed. "MacLeods are exempt from the laws they bestow on their charges."  
  
"Conner did that to you, too, huh?"  
  
"Yes. But at least you found a way around the no swords rule."  
  
"I didn't have a choice."  
  
Richie and Rachel went to the store to pick up everything for dinner. Richie was putting the lasagna in the oven when there was a knock at the door. He felt the buzz and insisted that he answer it himself. He didn't have caller ID and although he assumed the immortal was friendly he couldn't know for sure.  
  
"What is that?" Duncan greeted him pointing at the earring.  
  
"Told you!" Richie called into the loft, stepping aside so Duncan and Joe could come in.  
  
"Honestly, Duncan, he's a grown man now. If he wants an earring." Rachel scolded playfully giving Duncan a hug.  
  
"Joe Dawson, Rachel Ellenstien," Richie introduced.  
  
"Conner's daughter," Joe said shaking Rachel's hand. "It's nice to meet you."  
  
"The Watcher," Rachel returned. "It's nice to meet you, too."  
  
"What smells so good?" Duncan asked, wondering further into the apartment.  
  
"Dinner."  
  
"Smells like lasagna."  
  
"It is lasagna."  
  
"Oh, well, that explains the smell."  
  
"Any one want a drink?" Richie offered.  
  
The four settled in the living room, which was to the left of the kitchen, to talk until Richie announced he had to go teach his class. Duncan decided to go watch while Joe and Rachel decided to stay at the loft and talk. Richie changed into his gi and told them to make themselves at home before he and Duncan went across the street.  
  
Duncan watched with a proud smile as Richie ran his class of young children through their paces. Richie seemed a natural teacher as he walked though the rows praising and correcting as the children ran though a kata. Surprisingly, Richie was a strict teacher who allowed no talking or goofing off. The kids, all twenty-six seven to ten year olds, were very well behaved and didn't seem the slightest bit put off by their sensei's insistence on perfection. They were all very eager to please. They all worked diligently and Richie continually praised them for their hard work.  
  
Duncan watched with a proud smile as Richie ran his class of young children through their paces. Richie seemed a natural teacher as he walked though the rows praising and correcting as the children ran though a kata. Surprisingly, Richie was a strict teacher who allowed no talking or goofing off. The kids, all 26 seven to ten year olds, were very well behaved and didn't seem the slightest bit put off by their sensei's insistence on perfection. They were all very eager to please. They all worked diligently and Richie continually praised them for their hard work.  
  
"Hey, I got an idea!" Richie announced in the middle of class when he usually gave the kids a short break. "See that guy back there?" he pointed to Duncan. "He taught me karate. His name is Duncan MacLeod. Everyone said hi!"  
  
The class turned to face Duncan. "Good evening, Master MacLeod," they said in unison bowing. Duncan bowed back, knowing fully well that Richie had had this all planned out.  
  
"He taught you, sensei?" a little girl asked.  
  
"Sure did. Started five years ago. He's really good. And I bet if you ask nicely, he'll give you a little demonstration." The class turned their fifty-two expectant eyes on Duncan. "What do you say, Mac?" Richie said with a grin.  
  
"I say you had this planned."  
  
"Prove it."  
  
"Okay, I'll do a demonstration. if you spar with me," Duncan returned with a grin. Richie got his 'how dare you turn the tables on me' look. "Don't you want to see your sensei fight?" he encouraged the kids.  
  
"Yeah!" they all yelled.  
  
"Alright, you're on." Richie was never one to back down from a challenge. "First to five." Duncan nodded his agreement and started across the mat. "Ah, ah!" Richie stopped him. "What are you doing on the mat with your shoes on? You would throw my shoes at me if I did that." The kids laughed.  
  
Duncan took off his shoes and once again started across the mat, meeting Richie in the middle. They took their positions and went at each other. Not two seconds into the fight, Richie landed a side kick solidly on Duncan's chest, sending him to the ground.  
  
"One," he smiled.  
  
"Oh, you're going to play that game are you?" Duncan laughed, getting back up as Richie pranced around him. They started again and this time Duncan flipped Richie to the mats. "Don't think I'm going to go easy on you because it's your class."  
  
"Wouldn't have it any other way, old man."  
  
Duncan round housed Richie to the mats next. Then, Richie pulled a tricky move Adam had taught him that sent Duncan sprawling. Richie grinned his most mischievous grin as he appeared to try the move again only to change his mind at the last second and got Duncan down again.  
  
"Uh-oh, all tied up."  
  
"Next point wins," Duncan said.  
  
"We agreed to five," Richie protested.  
  
"But we have a nice dinner to get to after this," he reminded him.  
  
"Next point," Richie agreed.  
  
With a smirk, Duncan swept Richie's feet out from under him with the same move Richie had just sprung on Duncan. "If you bother to learn a move like that, bother to learn the defense," Duncan said under his breath as he helped Richie up.  
  
"Gotcha."  
  
"Did he beat you, sensei?" a boy asked.  
  
"He beat me," Richie agreed. "But only because I let him."  
  
"Yeah, right!" someone from the back yelled.  
  
"Okay, that's it; you cause mutiny," Richie said to Duncan. "They used to respect me."  
  
"You have to give them something to respect."  
  
Richie grinned. "Get out of my classroom."  
  
"What if I promise to sit in the back and behave?"  
  
"Deal."  
  
Richie started the class on a new move that most caught onto quickly. He then turned them on each other, pairing them off by size and skill level. They class went to work and Richie started up and down the rows again stopping at each pair.  
  
"Okay!" Richie called twenty minutes, attracting the sparring children's attention. "Time to cool down! Ichie, ni, son," he counted off and the children started a slow kata. "Good job, guys," he said when they were done. "Remember no class next week, but keep practicing. See you next class. Dismissed." He bowed, they bowed, and Duncan smiled. Richie said goodbye to each student as they left. Once all but one had gone, Richie walked over to Duncan with a little blonde haired boy in tow.  
  
"He's not going to hurt you," Richie smiled down at the little boy who was hiding behind his leg and peeking around. He squatted down so he and the boy were the same height. "Brandon, this is Mac. I live with him sometimes," he explained. "Mac, this is Brandon, he's Heather's little brother."  
  
"It's nice to meet you, Brandon," Duncan said offering his hand. Brandon turned and hid his face in Richie's shoulder.  
  
"Brandon has decided that he's shy," Richie said picking Brandon up as he stood. "He was fine earlier this year, but now.He'll warm up to you though. Come on, little man, let's go to my place." Richie got Brandon into his coat and carried him across the street. They went up the stairs and stopped at Alex's apartment.  
  
"Hey, man. We're back so I guess we can start hauling chairs and junk whenever you're ready," Richie said when Alex opened the door.  
  
"Okay, I'll be up in a minute."  
  
"Cool."  
  
"What do you need chairs for?" Duncan asked as he, Richie and Brandon went up to the next floor.  
  
"And plates," Richie added. "I have seven place settings and thirteen people coming, you do the math."  
  
"Six," Brandon said from Richie's hip.  
  
"Hey, you're right. Good job."  
  
Between Alex, Duncan and Conner, who had arrived with Adam while Richie and Duncan were across the street, the chairs and plates and silverware arrived in plenty of time to figure out the sitting arrangements. Since Richie's table could only hold ten once the leaves were put in, Brandon, Courtney and Alex were going to sit at the breakfast bar, which separated the kitchen from the dining area so they wouldn't be left out of the conversations. Rachel and Amanda, who had showed up with Conner, helped Richie with dinner and Brandon watched cartoons.  
  
The rest of the O'Neals arrived just as Brandon and Richie changed out of their gis. Richie ran through formal introductions then everyone sat down to dinner. Richie sat at one end of the table flanked by Duncan and Amanda, Heather was on the other end with her parents on either side, Conner, Rachel, Joe, and Adam filled in the middle of the slightly crowded table. They made pleasant conversation throughout the fancy home cooked meal. Once the meal was over, everyone moved in to the living room for dessert and coffee.  
  
"That was wonderful, Richie," Melinda said as she and Steven settled on the couch.  
  
"Thanks."  
  
"I knew you could cook, but you out did yourself," Steven added.  
  
"It's not like they're my recipes. Tessa's lasagna, Conner's garlic bread, Mac's salad dressing, Rachel's cheese cake."  
  
"We get the picture, Rich," Duncan interrupted with a fond smile. He had been doting over Richie all evening. "But you did make it all."  
  
Richie shrugged, blushing lightly from all the attention. "I guess."  
  
The conversation turned back to everyone getting to know everyone else. Various cover stories were shared of how Duncan, Conner and Rachel were related, how they respectively met Richie, who was in what line of work and various other half-truths. Much to Richie and Heather's pleasure, everyone seemed to get along. Richie grinned and mostly listened to the conversation only venturing in when directly asked a question. He could tell by the odd looks Duncan and Conner were giving him that they assumed his silence meant he was uncomfortable, but he was very comfortable. As a matter of fact, he felt everything was perfect. He'd heard many stories about potential in-laws not getting along, and been a little worried since his side of the family had many a secret to hide. But everything was going smoothly like a television Christmas special, and he liked it this way.  
  
Brandon started yawning so Richie volunteered his bed for the boy until the O'Neals decided to go home. He also volunteered to be the one to tuck him in. He took him back into his little room and snuggled him into the queen- sized bed.  
  
"Did you have fun tonight?" Richie asked, sitting on the bed next to the boy.  
  
"Too many people," Brandon said.  
  
"Ah, that's why you were so quiet. You'll get used to them being around. Conner, Mac and Joe know lots of stories if you ever wanna hear some. Sleep tight." He stood to leave.  
  
"You're going?"  
  
"Just in the other room to be with the grown ups. What's wrong?"  
  
"Don't go," Brandon pouted.  
  
"Are you scared?" Richie asked. "You've spent the night before. What's wrong?" Brandon didn't answer. "Is it all the strangers out there? Because you know that I wouldn't let anyone in here that would hurt you. I like you too much."  
  
"Promise?"  
  
"Pinky promise," Richie said, solemnly offering his pinky to the young boy. They hooked fingers and shook on it. "So you ready to go to sleep?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Do you want me to stay until you go to sleep?" Brandon nodded. "Okay, be really quiet and try to sleep."  
  
Three minutes later, Richie joined everyone else in the living room.  
  
"What did I miss?"  
  
"We were just talking about how glad we were that you persuaded us to sign Brandon up for karate lessons," Steven said. "I never would have considered it before, but you are very persistent."  
  
Richie shifted in his seat. "I like to get what I want."  
  
"He's spoiled that way," Conner put in.  
  
"A real brat until he gets what he wants," Joe added.  
  
"He always was the favorite," Rachel smiled.  
  
"Got what he wanted when he wanted it," Duncan joined in.  
  
"A spoiled brat," Adam put in for good measure.  
  
"I like Richard; I think he is a well behaved young man," Amanda said sitting up straighter. "I'm rather fond of him."  
  
"At least someone is on my side," Richie mumbled.  
  
"Aw, Rich, you know we're teasing," Duncan smiled at him.  
  
"Doesn't make it any less embarrassing, Mac," Richie said, none too subtly telling him to knock it off. Which, unlike what Greg would have done, he did. The O'Neals ended up leaving around midnight. Everyone said cheerful good-byes. Once they were gone, there was the task of deciding who would sleep where. It was eventually decided that Conner and Rachel would sleep in Richie's room while Richie and Duncan slept in the sofa bed. Joe and Amanda would stay at Adam's on the bed and couch respectively while Adam took the floor.  
  
Somewhere around two in the morning, three of the four occupants of Richie's loft were woken by the presence of another immortal. Richie jumped out of the sofa bed and grabbed his sword. He was running down the stairs trying to catch his stalker before Duncan could tell him to wait.  
  
"Hey!" Richie yelled coming to a stop in the alley behind the ballet studio.  
  
The stalker turned around. "Had a family gathering and didn't invite your father?" Greg asked, turning to face him. "You know you'll catch your death running around outside in your pajamas in this weather."  
  
"You're the one that's been following me," Richie said holding his sword at the ready.  
  
"Yes, you seem to have your hands full with that little immortal. He is a cute one."  
  
"You stay away from Brandon," Richie ordered coldly.  
  
"Or what? You're going to tell MacLeod on me?"  
  
"Don't get smart." Richie took a few steps to close the gap between them.  
  
"Now here's a change. You telling me to mind my attitude. I wonder if Heather hates me as much as you do."  
  
"I swear, Greg, I swear to anyone listening that if you so much as look at any of my friends or their families the wrong way and I catch wind of it." He swung his sword so the blade was resting on Greg's neck. "I will take your head so fast; you won't even see me draw my sword." He drew the blade back and stepped away.  
  
"Is that my first warning?" Greg laughed.  
  
"Your only warning." With those final words, Richie stalked back into the building and up the stairs.  
  
He filled everyone in then sat down to read the rest of the night.  
  
"Richie, come back to bed," Duncan said from the couch.  
  
Richie looked up from his book and cracked a smile. "Somehow it's less inviting when it's you and not Heather saying that. I'm fine."  
  
"Staying up all night isn't going to help anything. He's just trying to get to you."  
  
"Well, it's working."  
  
"Because you're letting it. He's not going to do anything. He's too scared to make a move."  
  
"Yeah, he's scared of me." Richie rolled his eyes.  
  
"He probably is or he would have challenged you instead of following you around for four months. You have an edge on him. Just keep your eye out for him."  
  
"Okay," Richie relented. "But I'm not tired." There was too much adrenaline pumping through his system for him to sleep. He turned his attention back to his book and had it finished by the time the sun came up.  
  
AN: Only three chapters to go! Next chapter: The Proposal! 


	41. Proposal

"Paris?" Duncan laughed as he listened to Richie ramble excitedly on the phone. "You want to get married in Paris?"  
  
"Why not?" Richie asked.  
  
"Why Paris, because it's the city of love?"  
  
"Hey, I never thought about that! But seriously, I was thinking Darius could do the ceremony. You think he would?"  
  
"Darius?" Duncan questioned.  
  
"Yeah. I mean, I want him there, and I know he's not too big on leaving Holy Ground. so I figured we'd go to him."  
  
"How big of a ceremony are we talking about here?"  
  
"I dunno. That's not really an issue though. I mean all you gotta do is buy the plane ticket. I'm sure we can work out some deal with a nice hotel."  
  
"Richie. do you have any idea how much that would cost people?"  
  
"Come on, Mac, I do it all the time.and you pay for it," he suddenly remembered. "And you're richer than Bill Gates."  
  
"Got a plan B?"  
  
"Ask Heather what she wants.or. you up for giving me a loan?" Richie joked, while hoping Duncan would take him serious.  
  
"How much are we talking, Richie?"  
  
"Are you serious!?"  
  
"Not a loan. maybe a wedding gift."  
  
"Really?"  
  
"But, uh, before you start scheduling the caterer."  
  
"A Caterer! I totally forgot!"  
  
"Maybe you should ask Heather first?" Duncan suggested.  
  
Richie paused. "That might help," he laughed. "Man, Mac, I am so nervous. I haven't been this scared since I broke in and you threatened to take my head."  
  
"Richie, you'll do fine."  
  
"Well, gee, Mac, you'll have to forgive me, I haven't done this before," Richie snapped. Then, "You really think she's gonna say yes?"  
  
"I do," Duncan said sincerely.  
  
"That's my line."  
  
"Richie, you're going to be fine. So. when are you going to ask?"  
  
"Friday. I'm going to tell her that I'm taking her out to celebrate graduation early, right after her last exam. and then I'm gonna ask her and tell her everything." He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "So if all goes according to the plan next time you see me. I'll be engaged.. I like the sound of that."  
  
"You should. So, I'll see you on Saturday. Engaged and graduating pre- law. Any word about your grade point?"  
  
"Four even," Richie said proudly. "I retook philosophy and got rid of that pesky B. So, that's that. All A's. I've even done my exams early and got them graded."  
  
"How did you manage that?"  
  
"Very carefully."  
  
"I'll say. And here I thought you hadn't even finished high school."  
  
"What?"  
  
"You didn't seem the type."  
  
"Shows how well you knew me. I got a 1520 on my SATs."  
  
"A 1520? Richie, a perfect score is 1600."  
  
"I know. I was so close."  
  
"No. Richie.. Do you not realize how good of a score that is?"  
  
"Mac, a 1600 is a good score."  
  
"A 1600 is perfect. Most people are in the 12 to 13 hundreds. How did you manage a 1520? I thought you stopped caring about school?"  
  
"I just wanted to see how well I could do."  
  
"And you were scared you weren't going to make it into college," Duncan chuckled.  
  
"I had my doubts," Richie admitted. "Are you done making fun of me now?"  
  
"Well.."  
  
"Maaac!"  
  
"Okay, okay, I give. I'll play nice."  
  
"Good. So what have you been up to?"  
  
. . . . . .  
  
"Heather, will you marry me?. No, too corny. Heather, I have loved you.. I should work for Hallmark." Richie paced the floor of his loft. "Okay, think Ryan." He took a deep breath. "Heather, sweetie. about that story I wrote freshman year. You know about the guys with the swords. Well, it's not exactly fiction. I've been lying to you. Oh, yeah that's a great way to put it!" He tried again. "You know how I've told a lot about me? Well, there's something else I have to tell you. yeah that's it," he decided. "I'm a good guy. Offering up the information. Can't get mad at me that way."  
  
He looked at himself in the mirror and fiddled with his collar. He brushed his hair for the twelfth time that hour. He checked the picnic basket he had packed. Potato salad, roasted chicken, and apple pie. All of Heather's favorites. Plates, napkins, sodas, silverware. check, check, check, and check. Just like the last time he had looked.  
  
"Okay, calm down, Ryan. You've been planning this forever. Everything's gonna be great."  
  
He sat down in the middle of the floor and tried to meditate. Finally he gave up and switched on the TV. Five minutes into a 'Facts of Life' rerun there was a knock on his door.  
  
"Aw, man," his voice squeaked. He cleared his throat, got up and opened the door. "Hey," he smiled broadly at Heather. "How'd it go?" he asked letting her in.  
  
"The play went well. My director really liked it."  
  
"I still don't get why you didn't let me come see your masterpiece. I mean, act two alone is enough to draw any crowd."  
  
"Act two?"  
  
"Okay, you caught me. I snuck into a couple rehearsals. But can you really blame me? I find out my girlfriend wrote, directed and starred in her own play and I'm not allowed to see it? I wanted to see you in action." He put on his best innocent face. "Forgive me?"  
  
"We'll see how this surprise of yours goes first. What have you gotten me into?"  
  
Richie picked up the picnic basket off the counter. "Got any guesses?"  
  
"A picnic?"  
  
"What gave it away? It was the blanket by the door, wasn't it? I knew that it would spoil everything," Richie pouted.  
  
"No, it wasn't the blanket by the door. It was the smell of roasted chicken," she assured him.  
  
Richie smiled down at her and kissed the tip of her nose. "So is Madame ready for lunch?"  
  
"Sure."  
  
"Okay, just let me get my jacket."  
  
"Richie, what is with you and your jacket? I never see you without it any more." Heather asked. "Is there something you're not telling me?"  
  
Richie's mind raced at the joke. "It's for dramatic effect," he said the first thing that came to mind.  
  
"Dramatic effect?"  
  
"Yeah, don't you get it?"  
  
Heather grinned. "What are you talking about?"  
  
"If I have to explain it to you that ruins everything. It's bad enough you guessed about the picnic."  
  
"So, you're not going to tell me?"  
  
"Think of it like a security blanket. only more rugged and manly."  
  
"A blankey?"  
  
"Don't you think it's cute?"  
  
Heather smiled. "Yes," she said wrapping her arms around his neck.  
  
"Good." The truth was Richie had been taking his sword with him everywhere he went. He wanted to make sure that if Greg ever had the nerve to make good on his threat, Richie would be able to make good on his. Greg was still following him around and Richie had been on the alert ever since that night over Christmas break. "So, you ready?"  
  
They got in the car and drove out of town. Heather kept asking where they were going but Richie refused to tell. He turned up the radio and all but ignored her as they drove to the area he had picked out months ago. He could feel the reassuring weight of the small velvet box in his pocket. An hour later, he pulled to a stop in a large field.  
  
"Riche, it's beautiful out here," Heather sighed.  
  
"This isn't it, but this as far as we drive," he said taking the basket and blanket off the back seat. "We have to walk a little bit."  
  
"You plan the most romantic dates," Heather told him as he took her by the hand and led her through the field.  
  
Richie just grinned. 'You have no idea,' he thought.  
  
"Okay, here we are," he said as they made it to the top of a small hill. "You hungry?" He spread the blanket on the ground and put the basket in the middle before sitting himself. "I got all sorts of good stuff in here."  
  
They sat and ate and talked for a few hours until the sun started to go down. "Okay!" Richie said suddenly jumping to his feet. "Come here." He took both of Heather's hands and helped her to her feet.  
  
"What now? Can't we just enjoy the sunset?"  
  
"You will, just come here." He stood facing her and pulled a bandanna out of his pocket. "Trust me," he said at her quizzical look. He started to blindfold her.  
  
"Richie!" she pulled away. "How am I supposed to enjoy the sunset if I can't see it?"  
  
"Just humor me? Please? It'll only take a second."  
  
"Alright," she rolled her eyes. "I swear I don't get you sometimes."  
  
"It's all part of my charm." He tied the bandanna over her eyes. "Not too tight?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Can you see?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Good." He took off his jacket and took the ring out of his pocket. He got down on one knee and looked up at her. "I know we fight about who asked who out first. So I want to make this perfectly clear. I'm asking you."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Take it off." Heather took off the blindfold and looked down at Richie and the ring. She gasped and burst into tears. "Will you marry me?"  
  
"Richie, of course I."  
  
"Before you say anything," he interrupted. "There's something really important I have to tell you. and you might not like it."  
  
"Richie, I'm sure whatever it is, we can work it out," she assured him.  
  
"That's what I'm hoping."  
  
. . . . . .  
  
It was a feeling he had never had been able to experience before. The simple one word answer had filled him with such emotion he could barely contain himself. After he took her home to tell her family the news, he hadn't been able to simply drive home and go to bed. That's why at two thirty in the morning he was just venturing up the stairs to his loft above the ballet studio.  
  
He let himself in and didn't bother to turn the lights on when he went to get a drink of water. As he was finishing his second glass of tap water the lights snapped on. He whirled around and faced the intruder.  
  
"How'd you do that?" he asked looking at Greg, who stood blocking the only path to his jacket and sword. "I should have noticed you."  
  
"That's something I could have taught you. Extreme emotion can confuse your senses. The things you could have learned if you had just done as I told you."  
  
"I did do what you told me and you never taught me anything."  
  
"I made you who you are! You live because I let you." Greg closed in on Richie.  
  
"Who do you think you are, God?"  
  
"There is no God, boy."  
  
"Maybe not for you."  
  
"Oh, that's right, the little boy has gone back to religion. I taught you better than that." Greg drew his sword and pointed it at Richie. "I would like you to come with me, now."  
  
"No way."  
  
"Oh, yes." Greg drew a gun with his free hand from an inside pocket on his sports jacket. "If you fight me on this, I will shoot you and there's no guarantee that you'll ever wake up."  
  
"What do you want from me?" Richie asked. "If you want my head, I'll fight you for it. All you have to do is ask."  
  
"Oh, I didn't live this long by simply taking one head at a time."  
  
"You're like what, 25 years older than I am?"  
  
"So young, so naive."  
  
"What's that supposed to mean?"  
  
"I'll tell you all about it later. Just come with me."  
  
"Where?"  
  
"You'll see." He resheathed his sword, but kept his gun out. "Just be nice and quiet." He beckoned Richie forward by waiving his gun.  
  
"I know how this works," Richie snapped moving to get in front of Greg. Causally he reached for his jacket.  
  
"Ah, ah!" Greg stopped him. "You don't need that." Silently, Richie put his hands up in surrender and left the loft. "Oh, put your arms down," Greg hissed as they walked down the stairs. Richie complied with a slight smirk. It was the little things in life that mattered. And the irritation in Greg's voice was one of the little things. They made their way out of the building and into Greg's car. Greg made Richie get in and tied his hands together before putting the seatbelt over his arms. "Don't move."  
  
"Wouldn't dream of it."  
  
Greg got behind the wheel, put on the child safety locks just in case Richie got any brilliant ideas, started the engine and drove away.  
  
AN: Two chaps to go! Next chap: I make the readers happy 


	42. DIE GREG DIE! MWAAAA HAAA HAAAA!

"Is all this really necessary?" Richie asked as Greg wound rope around his ankles. "I mean, I'm not going anywhere." Richie wasn't quite sure where Greg had taken him, but it all seemed pretty familiar.  
  
"Oh, shut up."  
  
"Forget your handkerchief?" Richie asked. "Where are we anyway?"  
  
"Does the name Michael Plattman ring any bells?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Really? Because you spent quite a bit of time with him here." Greg began to secure Richie's wrists to an exposed pipe above his head.  
  
"Chuck?" Richie asked. "You were behind that?"  
  
"Smart kid."  
  
"I knew it wasn't Miller. You son of a."  
  
"Watch your language."  
  
"Bite me! You set me up!"  
  
"So what if I did? It didn't work."  
  
"What makes you think this will?"  
  
"What makes you think this is a set up?"  
  
"If you kill me, Mac's gonna be all over you like a fly on a warm pile of shit."  
  
Greg grabbed Richie's jaw. "If I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times; I do not tolerate that kind of language!"  
  
"Hits too close to home, huh?" Richie asked through puckered lips.  
  
"Ingrate."  
  
"Asshole."  
  
"How can you use that attitude with me?" Greg asked, letting Richie's face go and standing up. "I raised you. I made you who you are."  
  
"What are you trying to do, guilt trip me?" Richie asked, watching Greg pace from his seat on the floor. "You manipulated me. You used me."  
  
"I never used you."  
  
"What do you call this?"  
  
"I call it the final phase. I tried to be patient with you. I was going to wait for a while before I got you involved. But you leave me no choice."  
  
"Final phase? What are you a comic book villain?"  
  
"All you had to do was choose me. I would have let you live longer. You've lived this long because I wanted you to."  
  
"We've been over this part."  
  
"But don't you want to know why?"  
  
"You itching to reveal your master plan?"  
  
"I was going."  
  
"I don't care," Richie interrupted.  
  
"You have a smart mouth, boy," Greg said pulling his sword.  
  
"Just noticing? Not very observant."  
  
"I raised you to be better than this."  
  
"You raised me to be you."  
  
"And you were on the right track. Exactly as I wanted you to be. Then I left. the look on your face," Greg laughed. "My poor little boy all lost and alone without his daddy. Oh, I knew you'd come running back the second you saw me again."  
  
"You planned that!?"  
  
"But I didn't plan you and MacLeod. oh, that was priceless. So perfect. All I had to do was sit back and let nature run its course on a desperate little boy."  
  
"You're sick, you know that?"  
  
Greg laughed again. "Why? Because I can play the game? Oh, I knew you, Richard Ryan; I knew you like the back of my hand. You were going to attach yourself to MacLeod just so long as he let you. Just like you did to me. Oh, you were a pathetic one." He shook his head sadly. "So eager to please. You'd do anything for a pat on the head. Just a little attention was all you wanted. So I gave you as much as you could handle and then you were putty in my hands."  
  
"I can't believe I ever trusted you."  
  
"Me either. You were so smart I was sure you'd catch onto me. But you never did. I was your hero. And then when you came crawling back four years ago. Oh, you were so pathetic. All you wanted was your daddy back. No matter what that MacLeod said, you trusted me with your life. So young, so naïve. I was surprised you lasted as long as you did before you realized something. I guess all you still wanted was a pat on the head."  
  
"I hate you."  
  
"Do you think I care? Don't you understand? You're going to die tonight. I will take your head before the dawn breaks."  
  
"Untie me and we'll see who wins in a fair fight."  
  
"We will, we will; be patient. First, I'm going to work my way through all your little rescuers. They should be here by now, don't you think?"  
  
"Graduation isn't until next week."  
  
"And? They'll be here. I know you. They'll be here."  
  
"They're not coming today. I'm supposed to meet them tomorrow for lunch."  
  
"Then you just bought yourself some time, little one. Have a nice night."  
  
"You're not going to leave me here!" Richie exclaimed as Greg started to walk away.  
  
"What, the first time I brought you home, I couldn't get rid of you for five years. You expect me to go through that again?"  
  
"What if someone finds me? What are you gonna do then?"  
  
"What are you going to do, scream for help? I kept you here for three days last year and no one had the slightest clue there was anyone here. One night won't be a challenge. Sleep tight." He slapped Richie lightly in the face and left.  
  
"Hey! Hey! Hey, come back here you son of a bitch! Let's get this over with now!" Richie screamed after him, pulling on the ropes that refused to budge. "Damn it; let me go!"  
  
. . . . . .  
  
"He's not answering," Duncan said hanging up his cell phone the next afternoon.  
  
"Wonder where he is?" Adam asked.  
  
"He's not one to be late for free food," Joe added.  
  
"Why don't you guys wait for Conner and I'll check on his apartment," Duncan suggested.  
  
Twenty minutes later, he was opening Richie's unlocked front door. It wasn't like Richie to not lock everything up. He grew up in a city where if it was unlocked, it was up for grabs. He walked in and found Richie's coat and sword on a chair, his keys on the in table, and a glass of water on the kitchen counter. The lights were on. Duncan pulled out his cell phone.  
  
"Joe, I need you to find out where Greg Masters is. I think he has Richie."  
  
"What makes you think its Masters?" Adam asked half an hour later at Richie's apartment as Joe searched for Greg or Richie's whereabouts.  
  
"All of Richie's things were here, the door was unlocked and the light was on. He didn't go on his own."  
  
"Well, it doesn't look like he put up a fight either," Adam pointed out.  
  
"I don't know; I just have a feeling."  
  
"Well, it paid off," Joe said hanging up the phone. "That was Richie's watcher. He and Greg left just after two this morning. According to Greg's watcher they're at the high school again."  
  
The phone rang. Out of habit, Duncan answered it. "MacLeod."  
  
"I thought you might be there."  
  
"We're on our way, Masters. This ends today."  
  
"You bet it does. In an hour."  
  
"Now."  
  
"Fine, oh, someone wants to say something to you." Richie's voice came on the line. "Kill him, Mac."  
  
"Richie?"  
  
"See you soon," Greg answered. "Oh, and bring the Calvary. Everyone's welcome." Then he hung up.  
  
"That was Masters. He's ready for us."  
  
"Us?" Adam repeated.  
  
"He wants to take us all on," Duncan said heading for the door.  
  
"Really? He doesn't know who he's dealing with," Adam laughed following him.  
  
"Did I miss the party?" Conner asked as he and Duncan met on the stairs.  
  
"Just in time," Adam said from behind Duncan. "We're on a mission. Want to come along?"  
  
"I have nothing better to do. What are we on a mission for?" Conner asked falling in line.  
  
"Rescue mission for the young one."  
  
"Ah, recon. Nice. Hey, Joe. Did you take up the sword, too?"  
  
"I'm just along for the ride. You guys play with your swords; I'll stick to the pen. It's mightier, you know."  
  
"Why are you joking like this?" Duncan asked as they all piled in Adam's SUV.  
  
"Why are you so serious? Master's isn't going to hurt the tyke. And he can't beat all three of us. So your boy will be fine," Adam said.  
  
"Unless, of course, he gets a bad case of rope burn," Conner commented. "But he is immortal so it's not a big problem."  
  
"He'll be hungry."  
  
"Cranky."  
  
"Obnoxious."  
  
"Have to keep an eye on him so he doesn't run off to get tattoos."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Long story, old man. I'll tell you later."  
  
. . . . . .  
  
Greg looked at Richie as he hung up his cell phone. "Dead before the sun set."  
  
"Yeah, I guess you will be. Can't say I'll miss you. But, send me a post card from hell."  
  
"Smart ass."  
  
"I thought you didn't tolerate that kind of language?"  
  
"I'll be glad to be rid of you."  
  
"The world will be glad to be rid of you."  
  
"You still think you're going to live through this?" Greg laughed. "You must be an optimist."  
  
"I'm a realist," Richie shot back. "You'll see. You're the dead man."  
  
"So sure, aren't you? What happened to the kid with no confidence?" He drew a line across Richie's neck with his sword. It caught on the chain around his neck. "Oh, I've been meaning to ask you about this." He hooked the chain on his sword and drew the small pendant from its hiding place under Richie's shirt. "Now I haven't seen you without this in years. What's so important about this thing?"  
  
"Good luck charm."  
  
Greg snapped the chain and studied the pendant. "Gaelic. 'Bless this child of the clan. God protect him.' How cute. MacLeod must have given this to you. Only he can be this disgustingly sentimental." Richie didn't say anything. "Let's see how confident you are without your little trinkets." He pocketed the necklace.  
  
"Oh, big man. Now, I'm scared. I don't stand a chance without that. Just take my head; get it over with. I can't take the fear! Please," he scoffed. "Nothing has changed except now you stole my necklace. I'll take it back from you before I walk out of here. After I kill you."  
  
"You kill me? Look at you! I'm in charge here. I call the shots."  
  
"You're scared of me," Richie said, in false vibrato. "That's why you need all this. The power, the authority. You're scared of what Mac taught me. That's why you took the necklace. You're scared. You don't know what to do, but cheat. You're just trying to build yourself up into something you're not. You're scared because you know you can't beat me."  
  
Greg leaned in close to Richie's face. "I already have. I'll be back for your head later." He left the room.  
  
. . . . . .  
  
Duncan was out of the car before Adam had it completely stopped.  
  
"MacLeod!" Adam called after him as he charged toward the building. "Calm down, your boy is fine."  
  
"Masters has gone too far," Duncan told him. "I don't know what he wants from Richie but he's getting it over my dead body."  
  
"This is Richie's fight, not yours."  
  
"He's right, Duncan," Conner agreed. "If anyone kills Masters today it should be Richie."  
  
"What if he won't?"  
  
"It's his decision."  
  
"Fine." Duncan tuned on his heel and went into the building.  
  
The three immortals honed in on the location of the other immortals while Joe followed. They made their way to the cafeteria where Greg was waiting.  
  
"I was beginning to think you weren't coming."  
  
"Where is he?" Duncan demanded.  
  
A muffled "Mac!" came from behind another door. Without pause Duncan went toward the door. The silent order 'Keep Masters here' was heard by all in the room.  
  
"Richie?" he called opening the door.  
  
"Mac!" Richie called from around the corner. He was tied to a pipe on the kitchen wall.  
  
"You okay?" Duncan asked cutting the ropes.  
  
"Just a little stiff," Richie answered rubbing his sore wrists. "No quickening," he commented as Duncan helped him to his feet.  
  
"Not yet," he agreed.  
  
"Why not?" They walked to the door. Richie suddenly stopped. "Mac, I can't go in there."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"I'll kill him."  
  
Duncan pulled out his sword and handed it hilt first to Richie. "No one is going to stop you."  
  
Richie took the katana and his face turned grim. "Who's up for a good old fashioned duel?" he called barging into the cafeteria. "You?" he asked pointing the blade at Greg. "You seem like you need to be taught a lesson. How about it?"  
  
"You won't fight me," Greg laughed.  
  
"I'll take your head now if you don't draw your sword."  
  
"If this is the way you want it, fine with me."  
  
"Shut up and fight," Richie snapped, lunging in for the first attack.  
  
Duncan stepped to the side and joined Conner, Adam and Joe to watch.  
  
"He's quite good," Conner commented. "Why are we all here?"  
  
"Greg wanted our heads," Adam told him. "Oooh, going for the wrong head, Rich."  
  
"He's just a child," Duncan mumbled not tearing his eyes from the fight.  
  
"Why isn't Mike here?" Adam asked Joe. "Doesn't he want a good seat?"  
  
"Mike's not his watcher anymore. His new one thought it would be better to stay out of the way."  
  
"Good man. Change it up, Richie!"  
  
"Is sidelines coaching allowed?" Conner wondered.  
  
"Nothing in the rules against it. Nice parry!"  
  
Richie forced Greg across the floor a few paces before cutting at his thighs. "I'm supposed to be scared of this?" he scoffed. "Brandon could take your head."  
  
"I'm your father! You can't kill me!"  
  
"Watch me."  
  
"God, Rich," Duncan whispered. "Shut up and concentrate."  
  
"Nice move," Conner called.  
  
"I taught him that," Adam boasted. "What's the matter, Masters? Can't keep up?"  
  
"Would you two shut up!" Richie groaned, blocking an attack meant for his knees. "I can't hear myself think!"  
  
"That's because you don't!"  
  
"Adam!"  
  
"Sorry, carry on." Adam waved his hand in a 'go ahead, now' gesture, with a cocky smirk.  
  
Back and across the two immortals went, swords clanging and discharging sparks when they connected hard enough. Richie's face was contorted in concentration as he predicted and countered every move. With a flick of his sword and a twist of his wrists Greg positioned the katana behind Richie's neck with his own blade holding it there.  
  
"Gotcha now," he smiled.  
  
"Do you?" Richie asked. With his left hand, he pushed Greg's sword aside. At the same time, he used his right arm to bring his sword around in a tight arc. Greg had just enough time to look surprised before his head was severed from his body.  
  
The quickening was more powerful that Richie had anticipated. The power surged so strongly through his veins his body felt it was about to explode. He screamed out, his body jerking rigidly as the power hit him. The four spectators had to shield their eyes from the flashing lights. Then it was over. Richie's screams still echoing through the empty building. Richie fell to his knees, letting the katana clatter noisily at his side. No one spoke or moved.  
  
Once he caught his breath Richie reached searched Greg's pockets until he found what he was looking for. "Told you I'd get it back," he panted, pocketing the necklace. "Rot in hell." He stood and left the room with Duncan, Conner, Adam, and Joe trailing behind.  
  
AN: One chap to go! Next Chapter the end and epilogue. 


	43. THE END!

AN: Special thanks to my beta Professor Lori Belle. I berdened her with this and she was a great sport ! I'm sure I drove her nuts but she went along with me the whole way through. THANK YOU LORI!!!!! Okay folks that's that! But no worries! There is a sequel in the works. Set in Hawaii. Heather and Duncan and Richie will all be there. So don't be too mad. I plan to start posting it after the new year. I need a break from this uni. So to celebrate I have a new story coming called Yes, Master. It is a little darker than my other stuff, but I would love to see what people have to say. Expect it in a month or so! Thanks for all the reviews and please take the time to leave one more! It was a pleasure writing for all of you!  
  
Richie's silence on the drive home unnerved his companions. Adam kept looking at Richie in the rear view mirror, who was stuck between the MacLeods in the backseat. Duncan was trying to calm the already stoic boy and Conner seemed mesmerized by the twitching in Richie's left hand. Joe was scribbling furiously in the front seat a preliminary report of the day's events.  
  
When they reached the ballet studio, Richie was already crawling over Duncan before the car stopped. He was out of the car and on his way up the stairs by the time the Duncan had taken off his seat belt to go after him.  
  
"MacLeod," Adam stopped him. "I don't think he's in the mood for playing the gracious host right now."  
  
"I'm not leaving him alone like this," Duncan argued. "A quickening has never affected him like this before. Something's wrong."  
  
"He has a point, Adam," Conner agreed. "There is something wrong with the lad."  
  
"I think this has nothing to do with the quickening," Adam said calmly. "I think this is a normal, human, emotion."  
  
"I don't think he'd be that upset over Masters dying," Duncan said.  
  
"Think MacLeod," Adam groaned. "What else has happened to him in the last twenty four hours?"  
  
They all thought for a minute. "He proposed to Heather," Joe said. "Yesterday afternoon."  
  
"You don't think." Duncan started.  
  
"No wonder he's." Conner added.  
  
"Poor kid."  
  
"Now do you understand why he should be left alone?"  
  
"He needs someone," Duncan insisted. "Even if he just has someone to ignore, he has someone."  
  
"How old do you think he is, six?"  
  
"You don't know him."  
  
"I do know him. And I know that you baby him too much. How do you expect him to survive?"  
  
"What if someone came for his head? He probably wouldn't fight!"  
  
"Who, MacLeod? Who in this town is immortal and not here?"  
  
"I'd feel better if someone stayed with him."  
  
"And I suppose you're volunteering?"  
  
"If no one else will."  
  
"I say we let Richie decide," Conner cut in. "If he wants someone to stay, he can pick who."  
  
"Fine. Who ever he picks, stays."  
  
"Fine," they all agreed.  
  
They all trooped upstairs. "See? The door is unlocked," Duncan pointed out reasonably as he opened the door.  
  
Richie was sitting on the couch in sweat pants with a half empty bottle of Jack Daniels in his hand. "What took you guys so long? I almost thought you were going to leave me alone without me yelling at you to go away."  
  
"Tell me you've been drinking that for a month and not ten minutes," Duncan said, moving to take the bottle.  
  
Richie stubbornly held onto it. "I just started."  
  
"You drank all that!?"  
  
"No. I've barely had any. But there's more if I need it."  
  
"You aren't going to finish this," Duncan insisted trying to take the bottle again. "I'll pour you some."  
  
"I know how much I can handle, Mac."  
  
"Something tells me you're not counting ounces tonight, Rich."  
  
"I'm not much in the mood to remember anything right now, much less how much I've been drinking."  
  
"Richie, I know what you're going through."  
  
"What the hell do you know?" Richie interrupted. "What the hell do you know about this? Nothing. Don't even try to tell me you understand what's going on."  
  
"Richie, I'm sorry this happened.."  
  
"I don't want your pity," Richie said slowly. "I don't want your advice and I don't want to talk to you and I don't want you here. Go away."  
  
"I'm not leaving you here alone."  
  
"Then I'll go somewhere else."  
  
"Richie, I'd just feel better if someone stayed with you. Just pick someone."  
  
There was a slight pause. "Conner or Adam, I don't care which," Richie finally mumbled. "Whoever it is, order a couple pizzas, I'm starving."  
  
"Why don't you go to my place; take my car," Adam gave Duncan his keys. "Richie, do you mind if we both stay? You're going to be quiet and I want someone to talk to."  
  
Richie looked out the window. "I don't care."  
  
"Duncan," Conner whispered. "Let the lad have his way. You'll hear everything anyway."  
  
"Take care of him," Duncan answered, obviously hurt but refusing to show it.  
  
"I always do."  
  
Conner got some glasses out of the cabinet and sat on the couch with Richie. "I hate to see a man drink alone."  
  
Adam shooed Duncan and Joe out the door and went to order the pizzas. The three drank in silence until the pizza came. Richie got up and paid the delivery boy and got the food. He didn't bother with plates or napkins just put the boxes on the coffee table. Conner had noted that Richie had yet to finish the glass of Jack Daniels in front of him. Apparently he had been waiting for the food to arrive, because he downed the liquor like it was a coke and poured himself some more.  
  
The silence set in again. Richie broke it as he started on the last slice of the second pizza. "How'd you guys figure it out?"  
  
"Logic," Adam answered. "It wasn't the quickening. It had to be Heather."  
  
"Oh." He stared at the pepperoni on his pizza. He took a bite then dropped it onto the greasy cardboard. "I felt like such an idiot. I mean what do you say after that? 'Oh, it was just an idea. Want some more pie?' And the way she looked at me. I was the monster in a little kid's nightmare. I think she was scared of me. Me! It's like.. She was waiting for me to pull my sword on her. She asked if I had it with me and when I told her I did, she backed away. The closest we were was when we were in the car. She wouldn't even look at me. She ran. ran. from the car to her house. She didn't say anything. just ran. I have never felt so ridiculous. ever. I shouldn't have asked. But I was so sure she would. I mean. I loved her. Hell, I love her. And I thought she did, too. I mean, she was my Tessa. I knew it. Everyone knew it. And now." he sighed and didn't finish his sentence.  
  
"I think you're ready for bed," Conner told him.  
  
"I'm not a child. I can decide when I'm ready for bed."  
  
"Richie, look me in the eye and tell me that you don't want to go in your room and curl up in a little ball to die."  
  
"I'll go when I'm ready."  
  
"Let him be, Conner," Adam interjected.  
  
"Thank you," Richie said, pouring the last of the Jack Daniels into his glass.  
  
He finished off the glass in a few long gulps. He got up and went to get another bottle. His steps were steady, even if he did sway a little when he was trying to stand still. He made it back to the couch with no mishaps and settled down with the bottle. Conner took it from him to pour a little into his glass. Richie finished it, then poured some more. Soon he had made a rather large dent in the second bottle.  
  
"You know something?" he said suddenly, looking at Adam.  
  
"You're drunk?"  
  
Richie paused to think about it. "Maybe a little," he decided. "You're not gonna tell Mac are you?"  
  
"Wouldn't dream of it."  
  
"Good. yeah, that's good. He thinks I'm five. maybe six. six on a good day. I haven't been that young in. in. in a long time. Long, long time. Don't think he knows that." He sighed deeply. "You know what else?" he asked Conner.  
  
"What?"  
  
"He thinks he's my dad. But he's not. I'm immortal. We don't got dads. I had one though. he was a reeeeeaaaaaal ass. So I killed him. Oh, wait, you were there! And." he lost his train of thought. "And Mac thinks I'm a baby. He thinks I can't take care of my self. I can you know. Yup. I got lots of money. lots and lots of it. A whole lots of it. I mean, Tessa, Mac. now Greg? Lots of money. I don't need him. Nope. I can do it."  
  
"You're really good at getting yourself drunk."  
  
"It's easy though. Just gotta drink a little. Yup. Tessa used to give me wine. Mac said she would turn me into a drunk. I may be drunk, but I'm not a drunk. There's a difference. Big one. That's why I came all the way out here."  
  
"Because you're drunk?" Adam asked in mild amusement.  
  
"No. 'Cause he thinks I'm five. He wasn't supposed to do this."  
  
"Do what?"  
  
"Everything. Car, computer, credit card, cds, stuff. I was gonna do it. I was gonna be. be. just me. I didn't want him to do this. I was gonna do it. I was gonna prove to him. I was. not a baby. I was just as okay at being on my own as him."  
  
"But he didn't let you."  
  
"No! He got worser! Where are you taking that?" Richie asked, trying to grab the bottle out of Conner's hand.  
  
"You said you were done," Conner said.  
  
"When?"  
  
"Just now. You said you were done. Didn't he, Adam?"  
  
"Yes, you said you were done."  
  
"Oh. okay then. Where was I? Oh yeah, he got worser. He was always sending me stuff. And he puts money in my bank account. Did you know that? He doesn't think I do. But I do. I'm not stupid. He does it. And he. he. I'm just as good at stuff as he is! I'm not his little brother, either. I don't have a brother. Ever! Just me and. We used to be just friends. When we first met. But now. he wants more and I don't. But you can't tell him that, because he's a baby. He gets hurt real easy. But I don't wanna. I wanna be me. Not his kid or his brother. me. Just a friend. Like us."  
  
"You look tired," Conner cut in. "I think you need to get some sleep."  
  
"You sleep."  
  
"Richie, it's late, get some sleep."  
  
"Fine. You're like Mac. You're not my dad either."  
  
"No. I'm a friend. And as a friend, I think you should get some sleep."  
  
"Fine." Richie got up and weaved his way into the bedroom.  
  
"That was quite a speech," Conner commented.  
  
"It's about bloody time," Adam said. "I thought he was never going to get out on his own. Now that we know he wants to, I know he will."  
  
. . . . . .  
  
Richie had decided to skip the graduation ceremony. He was in no mood for pomp and circumstance. So, he packed up the loft and loaded it all into his car. Duncan had wanted to drive back with him but he insisted he do it alone. And with Conner and Adam backing him up, Duncan agreed. Richie had just looked for anything he might have missed and was on his way to leave when Alex stopped him in the hall.  
  
"What?" Richie asked. "Are you going to beat me up because I broke your sister's heart? Because she was the one that called it quits."  
  
"I know why you broke up," Alex said calmly.  
  
"She told you? Oh, shit, she told you! She promised she wouldn't!"  
  
"She didn't tell me, I already knew."  
  
Richie paused. "Knew what?" Alex pulled up the left sleeve of his shirt and showed Richie his watcher tattoo. "When?"  
  
"The wedding. I saw you and that man. Mike explained everything to me. I'm sorry, Rich."  
  
"Me, too. Look, if Heather or anyone ever needs anything. You'll be able to find me. I'll do whatever I can for as long as I can. I promise. You guys can always come to me. And if I'm not around, you got Mac, or Conner, or even Adam I bet. He's bark is worse than his bite.  
  
"Thanks, Richie."  
  
"Don't mention it."  
  
"So you're headed home, huh?"  
  
"Yup. See you around. unless you're doing your job right."  
  
"Watch your head."  
  
"Always do."  
  
Richie had been home for a week and still wasn't feeling very social. So when Mac invited him to join him at the bar, he wasn't very surprised to get no for an answer. But when he got back and Richie was gone, he was a little curious. Until he got his answer. In the form of a note. On the coffee table. It was in Richie's almost feminine handwriting that Adam always made fun of him for.  
  
'Dear Mac, I'm sorry. I had to go. I had to do this. I can't take it anymore. So I'm leaving and will be long gone by the time you get this. I have to try this on my own. I don't need anyone to fall back on anymore and this is the only way I can prove it to myself, and you. I'm so grateful for everything you've done for me. You never had to bail me out of jail, you never had to give me a job, you never had to do anything you did. But you did anyway. And as much as I didn't deserve it at the time and don't deserve it now, I know you'd do it again. That's who you are. Well, this is who I am. A loner. I need my space and time. Please don't try to find me. I know you have your ways. But this is what I have to do. I'm sorry. I left the car and computer. I don't feel right using them and I don't feel right being the one to sell them. You don't have to worry about me. I'll be fine. I learned from the best. Richie Ryan  
  
. . . . . .  
  
*One year later*  
  
Duncan read the letter again as the plane landed.  
  
'Mac, I just wanted you to know that I'm okay. I have a good job and I'm doing fine. Nobody has come after my head. I'm keeping a low profile so it shouldn't happen anytime soon. I know this is pointless to say, but you don't have to worry about me. Richie P.S. I'm sorry I left without saying anything. I knew you would just try to keep me from going.'  
  
The letter had arrived a little over a year after Richie had left along with a check for all four years of school that Duncan had paid for. By that time, Duncan had all but given up on finding the boy; the watchers had lost track of him long ago. He knew that if Richie was okay he would contact him given time. And he had. Richie had done a good job covering his tracks; he didn't take into account the postmark on the letter would tell Duncan he was in Detroit, Michigan. After that, he was easy to find.  
  
As soon as the doors were opened, Duncan forced his way off the plane and to the car rentals. It took one phone call to start a chain reaction in the Watchers' system that ultimately took ten minutes to locate Richie's address. Duncan pulled to a stop in front of the nice, but little house and got out of the car. He took a deep breath and started up the front walk. The door was open before he had a chance to knock. Richie stood on the other side.  
  
"I got your letter."  
  
"Figured," Richie shrugged, stepping aside to let Duncan in.  
  
"Check, too."  
  
"Obviously."  
  
"You didn't have to do that, Richie. I told you I wanted to pay for it."  
  
"And I told you I was going to pay you back. I keep my word."  
  
They stood and looked at each other. Neither man looked any different.  
  
"Why did you leave?" Duncan finally asked.  
  
"I had to," Richie answered simply.  
  
"Without a word? Just sneaking away into the night?"  
  
"I was afraid you'd haul me to Joe's and lock me in the store room again."  
  
"Richie, why did you wait so long to contact me? Do you have any idea."  
  
"How worried you were? Probably about the same as me," Richie interrupted. "I waited so long, so that I knew I could do this."  
  
"Do what?"  
  
"Say good-bye."  
  
"Why?" Duncan demanded.  
  
"Because I have to.  
  
"No, you don't," Duncan assured him, closing the small gap between them. "Richie, why do you have to leave?"  
  
"It's not going to work out," he answered, monotone.  
  
"What's not going to work out?"  
  
"You and me. Me and anybody. It never works."  
  
"We can make it work."  
  
"No, we can't. It's pointless to even try. It never works."  
  
"Life has a way of making things work out, Rich."  
  
Richie shook his head. "The only thing life ever taught me was that because I'm immortal, it's never going to work out. I have to accept that."  
  
"Richie, that's not true."  
  
"Oh yeah? Greg, the guy who was supposed to be my father tried to kill me, Heather left me. I finally got a real job, but I'm gonna have to leave soon, I can't contact any of my old friends, because I'm 25 and I look like I'm 19!"  
  
"What does that have to do with us?"  
  
"We're immortal, Mac. You said it yourself; we might have to face each other. I can't do that."  
  
"Richie, I would never kill you."  
  
"If you had to you would.and so would I."  
  
"Richie.!"  
  
"Mac, this is that way it has to me. I don't have a choice. The closer we are, the easier it is for me to hurt you. I don't want to do that, Mac. I have to do this, you gotta understand."  
  
"But I don't," Duncan insisted. Richie had been the one person he figured would always stay.  
  
"Then I'm sorry." Richie turned his back to him.  
  
Duncan just stared. "Fine," he said quietly. "If this is what you really want."  
  
"I don't," Richie interjected, turning back around. "Believe me, Mac, I don't want this." His voice began to shake. "But I have to do this."  
  
"You've made your decision," Duncan responded curtly. "It's not like you've never made a decision I didn't like before. I can live with this. If it's what you feel is right, then we'll do it."  
  
"Mac, I'm sorry."  
  
"I know. Me too."  
  
"So I guess this is it, huh?"  
  
"I guess."  
  
"I'll see."  
  
"Rich, MacLeods don't say good bye. You know that."  
  
"But I'm not." he began to protest, but Duncan cut him off.  
  
"Richie," he said, putting out his hand.  
  
"Duncan," Richie returned after a slight pause. They grasped each other by the forearm until Richie pulled Duncan in for a hug. "I'm sorry, Mac," he whispered over his shoulder.  
  
"Me, too. tough guy," Duncan answered. He didn't want to, but when Richie began to pull away he let go. Then he did the hardest thing he had ever had to do; he walked away.  
  
It took all the control he had, but Richie didn't go after him. He did go to the window and watch Duncan go to his car. Duncan looked back just in time to see Richie turn from the window.  
  
The last thing either man saw was the other walking away. 


End file.
